A Rush to the Start
by ice princess deluxe
Summary: After everything that's happened between them, can two people find their way back to the beginning? Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland claim written for the LJ community 30 hugs.
1. here is gone

Title: Here Is Gone  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #24, Love and Hate  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic (though not quite yet)  
Rating: PG for minor language and angry Wardens  
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and its characters don't belong to me. Property of the good folks over at BioWare.  
Summary: Of all the arlings in all of Ferelden, he had to break into hers.

* * *

Moira Cousland's first instinct when she realized who was sitting behind the bars of the dungeon was to run as fast as she could the other way. Out of all the people in Ferelden, why did the thief her guards had captured have to be _him_?Unfortunately, she couldn't afford the luxury a quick retreat offered, so she straightened her spine and collected her scattered thoughts as best as she could._ This was not the way we were supposed to meet again,_ she thought bitterly, staring at the man. He'd changed since the last time she'd seen him; the tall, lanky boy she remembered had filled out into a rangy man with broad shoulders and a body that spoke of experience on the battlefield. The scowl on his face was familiar, even if the way that he seemed to be boring holes in the floor with his eyes wasn't.

"Leave us," she said quietly to the guard, who nodded silently before departing. He did so without question, which left her with a strange taste in her mouth. For the first time, she realized that _she_ was in command here, not just some guest who might be important to Ferelden yet still lacked power under her host's roof. The thought terrified her and Moira suddenly wished that she had thought to bring Oghren along, if only for moral support. Not for the first time that day, she wished that Alistair was with her, that she could have persuaded him to at least spend the evening before he continued on into the Bannorn. She was still trying to decide just what to say to her prisoner when he spoke.

"Ah, my father's murderer decides to grace me with their presence. Strange; from what I've heard of you, I had expected you to stand ten feet tall and have fire shooting out of your eyes," Nathaniel said quietly, not once looking up past Moira's boots as she came closer. Even though his posture was relaxed, Moira could sense a sort of tension within him, like a trap ready to spring at a moment's notice.

Moira gripped the iron bars with her bare hands until her knuckles turned white. He sounded so much like his father then that she felt the hair at the nape of her neck stand on end and ghosts whisper in her ears._ Bryce Cousland's little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man._ "So, you _have_ heard of me," she replied, ungluing her tongue from the roof of her mouth, her tone of voice matching his. The room blurred momentarily, but she quickly blinked her eyes. _Take a page out of Morrigan's handbook,_ she admonished herself. _Show no weakness._ "How does the real thing fare in comparison to my reputation?" She stared at Nathaniel, watching him flinch as he recognized her voice.

Slowly, as if he were trying his best to fight it, he raised his head and his eyes locked onto hers. "Moira?" He swallowed hard, emotions flashing quickly across his face – disbelief, relief, shock, grief, anger - before once again smoothing out in a mask of indifference. "I hadn't pegged you as a murderess." His eyes were as flat as his voice, chilling Moira to the bone. In all the years that she had known him, Nathaniel Howe had never looked at her in that manner before.

Her fingers tightened on the bars and she had to almost physically push back memories, the coppery stench of blood and burning wood coming back with a vengeance. "You don't know the whole story." _Little Oren bleeding in my arms, Rory pushing me away, having to leave my parents to die…_ Over the years, she had tried to repress her memories of that horrible night, but she still woke up from nightmares every once and a while.

Nathaniel stood up and walked towards her. "What? That my father was killed in cold blood in Denerim by someone – apparently, _you_ – just because he wouldn't support Alistair's bid for the throne?"

His tone of voice made something in her snap. "Rendon Howe butchered my family!" Rage that she thought long buried bubbled to the surface and she hit the flat of her palm against one of the bars. "My father _never_ would have supported Loghain so he was taken out of the equation. Your father stole lands and titles that were not rightfully his; his death was nothing less than what he deserved."

Nathaniel glared at her, his hands bunched into fists at his sides. "_Your_ father was a traitor to the kingdom, selling his allegiance to the Orlesians. What _he_ got was nothing less than what he deserved."

Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as red clouded her vision. "_How dare you…_"

Nathaniel arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. "And it seems as if you've decided to return the favor," he sneered. "Tell me, _my love_, did your precious King grant you the title of Arlessa before or after you stabbed my father in the heart?"

Hearing Nathaniel call her by the familiar endearment while putting so much venom behind those two words felt worse than any physical injury she had ever endured. _Better in the heart than in the back, _Moira wanted to say, but chose to keep her thoughts to herself instead of adding more fuel to the fire. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, praying for calm. Anger had served her well in the past, but she knew that she would lose this battle of words if she let that emotion control her actions now. When she opened her eyes again, she realized just how close he was to her. She hadn't been this near to him since she had been eighteen and confident that the only thing he was capable of at such proximity was stealing a kiss from her. Now she fought to stand her ground, knowing that the bars were spaced just enough to keep him from reaching out and attempting to snap her neck.

"Yelling won't solve anything," she said quietly, her hands trembling against the bars. "What are you doing here?"

"The last time I checked, Vigil's Keep was my _home_," he spat. "When I heard of what had happened while I was away, I meant to set a trap for you, to kill you and avenge my family for stealing our lands and dragging our name through the mud the way you did." Moira noted that he didn't say _avenge my father_, but didn't comment on his choice of words, even as she couldn't help from flinching when she realized he had meant to end her life. "However, as I lay in wait, I realized that all I really wanted was something tangible of my past, something to remember my family by. There has been so much death on both our sides. As much as it galls me to admit it, I would hate to continue adding to the body count." He wrapped his hands around the bars, his fingers inches from Moira's, and bowed his head.

Moira let her forehead rest against the metal. There was something broken about Nathaniel's voice that tugged at her, making her wish that there wasn't anything between them so that she could just reach out and wrap her arms around him like she used to so long ago, that she could hold tight and rest her head against his shoulder until everything was once as it used to be. "What will you do if I let you go?" she whispered, suddenly tired beyond belief. Her fingers itched to touch his cheek, to erase the grief she saw behind his eyes.

Nathaniel looked at her with such hatred and she shook herself for dropping her guard. "I would just come back. I said that I wouldn't _like_ to add to the body count, not that I'd necessarily decide to spare you. Next time, you and your guards might not catch me."

_When in doubt, do something out of place to distract your opponent._ Her old fencing teacher's words came back to her just then and she let go of the bars, threw her head back and laughed because it was far better than screaming at the injustice of it all, far better than breaking down and crying like she desperately wanted to do. The tactic did the trick: Nathaniel took a hesitant step backwards.

She shook her head. _Oh Nate,_ she thought sadly. _What has become of us?_ "I defeated an archdemon, Nathaniel. You are certainly more than welcome to try your hand at what an entire darkspawn hoard failed to do." At least now she had a reason to wipe at the corners of her eyes; the tears that she couldn't quite keep at bay now disguised themselves as tears of mirth. It was clear to her that the boy she had loved so long ago was dead, just as the girl she had once been was, and she mourned for them both. This man in front of her, the one that wore Nathaniel's face and spoke with his voice, was a stranger to her. "Fortunately, I have several choices on what to do with you. I _could_ let you go and risk facing an assassination attempt; it certainly wouldn't be the first I've ever seen, nor would it be the last, so I feel I should warn you that I am fully capable of thwarting such attacks. You say that next time I might not catch you; well, next time I might not be so merciful either. My second choice would be to order your execution right now. What would you prefer: swinging from the courtyard rafters or being left here to rot?" She had never been good at intimidation, preferring to persuade her marks instead, so she didn't quite know how Nathaniel would react. She ignored the agonizing pang she felt at even contemplating his death, pushing that feeling aside until she had a chance to be alone and could afford to wallow in her own misery for a while. _And just when will that be,_ she angrily wondered. _You are Warden-Commander now as well as the Arlessa of Amaranthine; you have to put the needs of your people ahead of your own._

"Either way would show fear on your part," he hissed, his head held high. "Yet that would be just par for the course where your actions are concerned. Fleeing your home instead of staying to defend the people in the city below and killing instead of bringing the accused to justice are marks of a true coward."

Moira felt the muscles in her jaw clench and she fought the urge to slap the sneer off his face. "Then I guess that leads me to a third choice," she said, hoping that she was making the right one. "I hereby conscript you into the Grey Wardens. You said that you have lost your name and the respect that went with it; I am giving you a chance to redeem yourself and your family."

"Odd, how it is up to you to decide my fate," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "You must be insane to want someone at your back who just said they had no problem killing you."

She gave him a humorless smile. "It's strange, but I meet most of my friends that way." The offhand comment made her keenly miss Zevran, who to her knowledge was already home in his beloved Antiva. Suddenly, his _there are worse things than being at the mercy of a deadly sex goddess_ was worlds more preferable than the stony glare she was now facing from a ghost from her past. "Besides, not only is there a chance that you'll die instantly during your Joining, but you'll only have thirty more years to live if you do happen to survive."

"So it seems as if you win no matter what."

"Yes, it would seem that way." She wanted to argue that it wasn't she that was winning, but Rendon Howe. It seemed that even beyond the grave he was still taking things that meant the most to her. Would it ever stop, or was she slated to experience loss after loss? "Although if I kill you now, you wouldn't have thirty years to take back your name, now would you?"

He glared at her before taking hold of the bars again. "I accept your offer."

She let go of a breath she hadn't been aware she had been holding. "I'm glad. I need all the Wardens I can get." Three – four, if she counted Alistair – Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden against this new darkspawn threat was not a pleasant thought. Then again, they _had_ ended a Blight with only two; the additional numbers should have comforted her more than they did.

"I am not doing this for you," he said, his voice flat. "I am doing this for my family, nothing more."

"I…" she was at a loss for words. "Very well. Can I trust that you will refrain from killing your Commander, at least before we find out if you make it through your Joining?"

"I don't see how I will have the chance to do so later, not with other Wardens in the area." He stepped back and watched as she unlocked his cell door. "I don't suppose that there's an oath that prohibits me from allowing darkspawn to kill you instead?"

"There isn't, although I have been told on more than one occasion that I'm royally tough to kill." She stood aside as he walked out. "If you would kindly head towards the throne room, we can get this over with." She couldn't help adding a little jab. "I believe you're familiar as to where that is."

Nathaniel looked behind his shoulder. "Not going first? How unlike you; I would have thought you'd want to parade your prisoner about instead."

"Forgive me if I think that you may have a knife hidden somewhere my guards didn't think to check. I didn't get the reputation of being hard to kill by being stupid." She gestured towards the chest. "Take whatever personal items you wish; my guards have assured me that everything besides your weapons have been stored there."

He snorted, but he did open the chest and take out a few things, ignoring the armor in favor for a necklace he tucked unto his tunic so quickly that she couldn't make out whatever pendant had been hanging from the chain. He also slipped a familiar ring onto his left index finger she had rarely seen him go without. Thus outfitted, he went to the door to the dungeon and stepped out into the night. Moira tensed and prepared to reach for the dagger at her back, just in case he decided to make good on his threat.

"You aren't the only one who hasn't lived as long as they have by being stupid," he said without looking behind him. "I don't plan on being anything except the docile lamb being led to slaughter." His words held a sarcastic bite to them that stung just as much as any blade, making Moira wince. She followed after him, watching as he walked with his head held high and his shoulders thrown back, as if there was no question that he belonged here. His actions momentarily cowed her, but she caught herself.

_Two can play at this game,_ she thought, digging down into her own well of reserve, lengthening her stride until she walked alongside him. Vigil's Keep was just as much hers now as it had once been his, and she was determined to show him that he would not intimidate her. The realization threatened to make her step falter, but she didn't allow her emotions to show. It didn't matter that she had told Alistair how much she hadn't wanted this position or how she wished that she would have become Arlessa under different circumstances, this land as well as the town and the lives of the people that lived in it were her responsibilities now. Unlike the fear that she had felt in the dungeon, she felt a sense of purpose. She would lead the Wardens and the citizens of Amaranthine as best as she knew how.

Rendon Howe might have taken everything away from the girl Moira had once been, but she would be damned if he or his son would continue to take away things from the woman who had risen from the destruction he had caused. She would prove him wrong. She would prove them _both_ wrong.


	2. shadows in a mirror

Title: Shadows in a Mirror  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #11, ice  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, eventually romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: He had been prepared to face anyone, he just hadn't figured on anyone being her.  
Note: This is Nathaniel's side of Here Is Gone, so all the dialogue is the same.

* * *

Nathaniel found it incredibly ironic that he had once been in the very same cell as a boy, hiding from his younger siblings during a game of Chase and Find. They hadn't been able to find him, partly because they had been afraid of the dark shadows and stale smell of old straw. The cell had seemed bigger then, not the claustrophobic cage that it actually was. He'd lost track of how long he'd actually been sitting in his father's dungeons. For all he knew, it could have been days or even weeks. Nathaniel had heard sounds of fighting earlier, but they had since stopped. The surly guard stationed in front of him wasn't any help; all he muttered was how lucky Nathaniel was to be locked up tight while good people fought darkspawn outside. There had been no use telling the guard that he _had_ been concerned for those fighting – his family had been responsible for their well being, after all - but the man probably wouldn't have believed him anyway.

He glared at the lock on his cell again. Pity he had never mastered unlocking it before. It was an even bigger pity that his lock picking kit was safely stored away in a trunk several feet from his cell. If he had it, then he guessed that overpowering the guard barring his exit would have been easy and he would have been well on his way before this new Commander of the Grey had arrived. As it was, he was reduced to sullenly sitting in the shadows, wondering if this Commander, this _Cousland_, would let him live or have him killed.

Cousland. Nathaniel's eyes narrowed and he thought about all he had learned since coming back from the Free Marches. A Cousland had killed his father, murdered him outright in a newly acquired family estate, and then had stolen all their lands and titles from under their noses. Nathaniel had done some investigating and had even heard the titles of Hero of Ferelden and Teryn thrown about.

It hadn't seemed real; Fergus had once been one of his closest boyhood friends. What right did he have to do this to the Howes? Word was that Bryce Cousland had betrayed the kingdom and had been selling information to the Orlesians. _That_ bit of information had been difficult to hear; Nathaniel had thought of the Teyrn of Highever as something of a surrogate father, especially since he had once thought to call him his father-in-law. Nathaniel had also picked up some information saying that his father had attacked Highever first, but he had thrown that out as pure gossip spread by Fergus' followers, as justification for the injuries done to his family. What reason would his father have to attack his oldest friend? What would he have to gain? The Rendon Howe that Nathaniel remembered would never do something so rash, especially if there was a chance that his actions would damage his family's reputation.

He eyed the trunk holding all his possessions, rubbing at his chest all the while. Amid his personal items stored there was a chain that held a plain gold band he had worn around his neck for nearly a decade. He'd still been in the Free Marches when he had heard that the entire Cousland line save for Fergus had been killed in Highever and it had felt as if someone had ripped his heart out of his chest. When he had heard the news that the Teyrn had also been killed that night, he had felt sorry that he hadn't survived, if only because he had wished to have been the one to kill him himself. In the span of one night, Teyrn Bryce had taken _everything_ from Nathaniel. He'd mourned Moira's death for two solid years before finding the strength to come back to Ferelden, cursing at her father for letting his political ambitions put those that he had claimed to love the most in danger. When he had been captured, he had stood by quietly as his guards had taken his armor and weapons from him, but he had fought them when they pulled his necklace off. The only place the heirloom wedding ring was supposed to be if not around his neck was on Moira's hand, and now that she had been taken from him, he would fight anyone who dared to touch it.

His efforts earned him a kick to the ribs from his captors, but at least he had the satisfaction that he had blackened one of their eyes and broken the nose of another beforehand.

Nathaniel's thoughts came to a halt when he heard voices near the dungeon's entrance. He couldn't make out who it was, but he was betting that it was the new Commander. He didn't want to give Fergus the satisfaction of seeing him so defeated, so he decided to keep his eyes glued to the stone floor in front of him until absolutely necessary.

"Ah, my father's murderer decides to grace me with their presence. Strange; from what I heard of you, I had expected you to stand ten feet tall and have fire shooting out of your eyes," Nathaniel said quietly, his voice echoing in the cell. He congratulated himself on his bitter tone, especially when he heard the almost silent footsteps pause before stopping a foot away from his cell.

"So, you _have _heard of me." The soft voice that replied threw Nathaniel for a loop. That was _not_ Fergus. Eight years had deepened the tone a little, but after hearing it night after night in his dreams, he could easily pinpoint who it belonged to. "How does the real thing fare in comparison to my reputation?"

Nathaniel slowly forced his gaze upward, still not believing that the person in front of him was real, hope flaring in his chest for the first time in two years and the single thought of _she's not dead. She's not dead_ running through his head. He swallowed hard, watching her as she watched him and the years fell away. Instead of the woman grimly standing in full armor with her hands wrapped around the metal bars of his cell, he saw a young woman, her dark hair loose about her and dressed in a bright blue gown, her lips curled upwards in a smile that had once warmed him to see. She'd cut her hair; the ends barely brushed past her shoulders where it used to fall in waves down her back. He wanted to leap up, to wrap his arms around her and crush her tightly to him in relief, not caring if dragon scales got in the way of feeling the gentle curves her armor hadn't managed to mask. The armor befuddled him, as did her words, making his heart plummet. _No, she couldn't have…_"Moira?" This _couldn't _be the same person who had run a sword through his father's heart.

Then she tilted her head upwards, crushing what little bit of hope he had that he was mistaken by allowing those familiar hazel eyes of hers to harden and it felt as if he had been the one to suffer the mortal blow instead. If he had been standing, he was certain that he would have staggered backwards. _I'll wait for you forever, Nate. Don't tell me goodbye; just say that you'll see me later._ _I love you._ Memories that had kept him company when he had been away were now useless and he fought to find some sort of foothold on a suddenly slippery slope. "I hadn't pegged you as a murderess." His voice was flat and lifeless even to his ears, and he briefly enjoyed the uncomfortable expression on Moira's face.

Her fingers tightened on the bars and he watched as she took a deep breath. "You don't know the whole story." Something painful flashed behind her eyes and Nathaniel had to push away the urge to hold her, to do something to ease whatever hurt she had suffered. That was when the full effect of what had happened finally hit him, that his father was dead and _she_ had been the one to end his life. He hadn't heard a word about Thomas or Delilah's whereabouts; had Moira had something to do with them as well?

Nathaniel stood up and walked towards her. "What? That my father was killed in cold blood in Denerim by someone – apparently, _you_ – just because he wouldn't support Alistair's bid for the throne?" Anger burned hotly in his chest and made him want to reach out and shake her. How could she do this to him? How could she do this to both of them?

"Rendon Howe butchered my family!" She had been quiet up until then, and the sudden outburst of rage caught him unaware, as did the way the flat of her palm hit the bars, making them shake. "My father _never_ would have supported Loghain, so he was taken out of the equation. Your father stole lands and titles that were not rightfully his; his death was nothing less than what he deserved."

Her words made him seethe. He had _mourned_ her loss, had wandered about feeling lost and empty for so long only to find out that she held no remorse for her actions. "_Your_ father was a traitor to the kingdom, selling his allegiance to the Orlesians. What _he_ got was nothing less than what he deserved." It was a cheap shot, but he wanted her to hurt as much as he did. He _needed_ her to suffer just as much as he had suffered.

"_How dare you…_"Her eyes were narrowed andhe had never heard her voice sound so hateful before in his life.

Nathaniel arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, cutting off whatever else she was planning on saying. "And it seems as if you've decided to return the favor. Tell me, _my love_, did your precious King grant you the title of Arlessa before or after you stabbed my father in the heart?" The endearment felt like a knife twisting in his chest even as he spat it out at her like a curse. He watched with some satisfaction as she flinched, closing her eyes as she fought to tamp her temper down like he had often seen her do. She was so close to him now that he could smell the faintest whiff of lavender come off her. The scent made another unwanted memory come to the surface: he was twenty again, holding her close to his chest with his nose buried in her hair, marveling at how perfectly she fit in his arms and wondering if she would object to him kissing her like he had wanted to since he and his father had arrived in Highever that morning.

The thought of his father gave Nathaniel something to focus on. He shook his head and brought himself back to the present, noticing that Moira had opened her eyes again and was staring at him.

"Yelling will not solve anything," she said quietly. "What are you doing here?"

"The last time I checked, Vigil's Keep was my _home_" he snapped. "When I heard what had happened while I was away,I meant to set a trap for you, to kill you and avenge my family for stealing our lands and dragging our name through the mud the way you did." He might have been anticipating her brother as his father's killer, but he wasn't going to let her know that, especially since he saw how she recoiled at the thought of him wanting to kill her. "However, as I lay in wait, I realized that all I really wanted was something tangible of my past, something to remember them by. There has been so much death on both our sides. As much as it galls me to admit it, I would hate to continue adding to the body count." He wrapped his hands around the bars, his fingers almost, but not quite, grazing Moira's and bowed his head. Maker, but he was tired. In all honesty, he _did _just want to take a few mementos of his former life and leave, never to come back. He didn't belong here, and he certainly didn't want to be anywhere near her any longer.

Moira let her forehead rest against the metal. "What will you do if I let you go?" she whispered. She sounded as broken as he felt and his heart momentarily went out to her. It seemed that no matter what she had done to his family, he still had a vulnerable spot when it came to the girl he had fallen for. He looked down at her, noticing how unguarded she looked just then with her eyes shimmering in the torchlight and he had to stop himself from reaching out and brushing away the lone tear that had slipped down her cheek.

He twisted his lip into a sneer and looked at her with such hatred, berating himself for wanting to believe that she might still feel something for him. "I would just come back. I said that I wouldn't _like_ to add to the body count, not that I'd necessarily decide to spare you. Next time, you and your guards might not catch me." If he wanted to survive this encounter with his sanity intact, he was going to have to do a better job of guarding his heart. The logical solution was to encase it in ice, to distance himself from Moira until he could convince himself that the girl he had loved so long ago was gone, that this woman who had taken her place had killed her.

He had thought her dead once and it had nearly killed him. To see her like this, to know that she was responsible for his family's downfall, was like reopening that barely healed wound all over again.

She made it easier for him to hate her when she threw her head back and laughed. The sound was completely devoid of mirth and made his skin crawl. He took a hesitant step backwards and watched as she wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands. "I defeated an archdemon, Nathaniel. You are certainly more than welcome to try your hand at what an entire darkspawn hoard failed to do." It was the first time that she had called him by his name, and he was grateful for the mocking tone she said it in, if only for the fact that it helped fuel his anger towards her.

"Fortunately," she continued, "I have several choices on what to do with you. I _could_ let you go and risk facing an assassination attempt; it certainly wouldn't be the first I've ever seen, nor would it be the last, so I feel I should warn you that I am fully capable of thwarting such attacks. You say that next time I might not catch you; well, next time I might not be so merciful either. My second choice would be to order your execution right now. What would you prefer: swinging from the courtyard rafters or being left here to rot?"

"Either way would show fear on your part," he hissed, his head held high. He refused to be intimidated by her threats of death, even as part of him wondered just who had tried to kill her in the past. "Yet that would be just par for the course where your actions are concerned. Fleeing your home instead of staying to defend the people in the city below and killing instead of bringing the accused to justice are marks of a true coward."

"Then I guess that leads me to my third choice. I hereby conscript you into the Grey Wardens. You said that you have lost your name and the respect that went with it; I am giving you a chance to redeem yourself and your family."

"Odd, how it is up to you to decide my fate," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "You must be insane to want someone at your back who just said they had no problem killing you."

She gave him a humorless smile. "It's strange, but I meet most of my friends that way. Besides, not only is there a chance that you'll die instantly during your Joining, but you'll only have thirty more years to live if you do happen to survive."

He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms again. "So it seems as if you win no matter what." Not only had she stolen everything he held dear from him, but now she had even stolen his life. Even if he were to survive this Joining, whatever it was, and escape, he would ultimately die. And it was all because of her.

"Yes, it would seem that way. Although if I kill you now, you wouldn't have thirty years to take back your name, now would you?"

He glared at her before taking hold of the bars again. His fate was set, and he could either face it kicking and screaming or he could walk forward with dignity. "I accept your offer."

She let go of a breath and Nathaniel saw a ghost of the smile he had once treasured appear on her face. "I'm glad. I need all the Wardens I can get."

"I am not doing this for you," he said, his voice flat. "I am doing this for my family, nothing more."

"I…" Her smile froze on her lips before vanishing completely, her expression as cold as his own. "Very well. Can I trust that you will refrain from killing your Commander, at least before we find out if you make it through your Joining?"

"I don't see how I will have the chance to do so later, not with other Wardens in the area." He stepped back and watched as she unlocked his cell door. "I don't suppose that there's an oath that prohibits me from allowing darkspawn to kill you instead?"

"There isn't, although I have been told on more than one occasion that I'm royally tough to kill." She stood aside as he walked out. "If you would be so kind as to head towards the throne room, we can get this over with." It seemed as if she couldn't help herself from taking one more stab at him as he passed by. "I believe you're familiar as to where that is."

He looked behind his shoulder, refusing to allow her words to affect him. "Not going first? How unlike you; I would have thought you'd want to parade your prisoner about instead."

"Forgive me if I think you have a knife hidden somewhere my guards didn't think to check. I didn't get the reputation of being hard to kill by being stupid." She gestured towards the chest he had been eyeing earlier. "Take whatever personal items you wish; my guards have assured me that everything besides your weapons have been stored there."

He snorted, thinking that her tone just then was more like what he remembered when she had been a little girl and had wanted to tag along with him and Fergus while they practiced their swordplay in the front courtyard of the Keep. _But I don't want to play with your sister's dolls! Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean that I can't fight as well as you two!_ Shaking that memory aside, he knelt and sifted through his belongings, finding his necklace and quickly slipping it over his head. He tucked the ring underneath his tunic before Moira had a chance to recognize it, to demand that he give it back to her since it had once belonged to her mother. _No,_ he thought vehemently, his palm pressing the cool metal band against his chest. _This belongs to me. It's all I have left of the girl I once loved. She might have stolen everything else from me, but I'll be damned if she takes this as well. _The only other thing he took out was the ring his sister had given him that he'd worn for years, placing it back onto his left index finger where it belonged. Standing up, he went to the door of the dungeon and stepped out into the night. Behind him, he could practically feel Moira reaching for the wickedly long dagger he had seen strapped to her back, almost as if she were afraid that once freed, he would turn and attack. _Good_, he thought. _She should be wary of me._

"You aren't the only one who hasn't lived as long as they have by being stupid. I don't plan on being anything except the docile lamb being led to slaughter." Really, what did she expect him to fight her with, his bare hands? He was certain that even if he had gotten a few hits in, a single cry to her guards would have left him dead on the flagstones. He continued walking towards the throne room, determined to prove to Moira that even though she might have won this battle, he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He would join the Grey Wardens, bring honor back to his family's name, and live out the rest of his life the best that he could.

Moira Cousland might have destroyed everything he cared for, but he refused to allow her to lord it over him. He felt her fall into step beside him on his left as she had always done since the very first time they had met as children, but he didn't acknowledge her presence. He would walk these halls as if they still belonged to the Howes and there was nothing that she could do to stop him.

Another subtle hint of lavender assaulted his nose and he cursed himself for letting it affect him as much as it did. He might feel hatred towards her now, but he hoped that the layer of ice that he had put around his treacherous heart would hold.


	3. breathing

Title: Breathing  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #4, teddy bear  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, eventually romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: Where's a girl's best friend or Mabari hound when she needs them?

* * *

"He shouldn't be out this long," Moira murmured, kneeling beside Nathaniel in the throne room. Her hand skimmed his throat, his pulse throbbing strongly beneath her fingertips. "Is something wrong?"

"I know not, Commander," Varel said, standing beside her.

"Sodding thief just can't hold his darkspawn blood, is all," Oghren commented from the post he had taken near the large keg in the corner.

Moira closed her eyes tightly. "Not right now, my friend," she quietly warned. "If he stays out any longer, we're going to have to move him." As furious as he was at her for deciding his fate, she figured that Nathaniel would hate to add waking up with a crick in his neck to his list of grievances.

"There are few rooms in the Keep that are ready for occupation," Varel explained. "Although, I believe that there is a room in the eastern wing."

Moira nodded. "Good. Then that will officially be his room." She ignored the urge to run her fingers through his hair and stood up. It took very little organizing to have two soldiers haul Nathaniel's limp body up a flight of stairs and down a hallway. She followed a little ways back, her thoughts back to the last time she had been a guest at Vigil's Keep while Nathaniel had lived there.

The halls had seemed larger, she remembered. Everything was grander, shiner, more intriguing to her back when she had been eighteen. Fergus had been scheduled to leave Amaranthine's harbor to travel in Antiva for an entire year and leave on the same ship that would take Nathaniel away to the Free Marches. Her father had planned for their family to stay with the Howes for an entire week in order for them both to leave together. Even though she had been exhausted from the journey and depressed at the thought that she would be left alone while two people she loved were going off on their own adventures – let alone that she wouldn't be seeing Nathaniel for such a long time - she had been on pins and needles with excitement that she had poorly tried to hide. A week in the Keep meant a week with Nathaniel, which was something that Fergus had mercilessly teased her about the entire trip there. Moira could clearly remember the shy glances that she had stolen with Arl Howe's eldest son at the main gate, how she had felt her cheeks burn in pleased embarrassment when he had commented that she had grown prettier since he had seen her last – and how she had held herself back from elbowing her dear brother in the ribs when he had not so subtly chortled at the compliment.

Most of her time had been spent in Delilah's company touring the gardens – those same gardens were now in disrepair after two years' worth of neglect – but her nights had been spent practicing her stealth, carefully padding down the hallways and slinking in the shadows, always in fear that she'd get caught by a maid or a guard as she tried to sneak into Nathaniel's bedchambers.

Her memories of the past collided with the present when they stopped at his new quarters. Her breath caught and she maneuvered herself in front of the two men carrying Nathaniel to open the door. Eight years had done little to change the room. It hadn't been lavishly decorated to begin with, but she remembered the large, overstuffed chair near the bedside, the polished bronze telescope arranged near the window, and the roomy bed with its downy soft comforter, which she absolutely _refused_ to let her memories linger on. Instead, she busied herself by building a fire in the hearth while the guards not so gently dumped Nathaniel on the bed. Neither man said a word as they left, but even without turning, Moira could feel that she was now alone with the one man she hadn't expected to ever see again in her life. Fatigue from the earlier fighting and emotions she hadn't been prepared to face made her tremble, the room swaying in front of her eyes. She made her way to the chair near the bedside and sat with her knees close to her chest, glad that the dragonscale armor she wore was flexible enough to allow her such a position. _It had rained for days after their arrival and the chair had been the perfect place to rest, Nathaniel's voice sleepily rumbling against her side as he read aloud from a book of poetry while she sat curled up in his lap._ She took a deep breath and let her head hit the back of the chair with a soft thump.

"It would seem," she drawled, more for her benefit than his, "that I've arranged for you to take back your old bedroom. You can thank me later."

Nathaniel's reply was a slight grunt, his mouth turning down into a frown in his sleep.

"You always did frown too much," she told him, holding her arms tighter around her knees. "Though I never minded; you always said that I smiled enough for the both of us." She hadn't done much smiling in the past two years, what with the death of her family, dealing with the Blight, and trying to rebuild Ferelden alongside a king, who despite his dedication to his new job, was terribly wet behind the ears when it came to politics.

"At least your things are still in place," she commented, looking again at the telescope. There was a layer of dust on the surface, but other than that, it looked to be in good shape. _They'd spent hours at night staring at the stars, his lips near her ear as he whispered the names of constellations and his hands warm on her waist as he held her close._ She stared at the telescope until her vision blurred and she was forced to wipe at her face with the back of her hand. "You know, I didn't believe my friend when he first said it, but fate is _definitely_ a tricky whore."

"What am I doing here?" she breathed, turning her head so she could look at him. "Did I do the right thing in forcing you to be a Warden?" Better yet, _why_ had she made him become a Warden? Practicality told her that it was because their numbers were far too few, especially since the Wardens from Orlais had been killed or drug off by the darkspawn that had ambushed the Keep. Common sense told her that it had been to keep her enemies close; if Nathaniel was there in front of her, she wouldn't have to worry about him stealing back into the Keep to slit her throat.

Unfortunately, sentiment was all but screaming that she had chosen to keep Nathaniel at her side because even though his father had murdered her family, stolen her lands, sided with Loghain in a bid to overthrow the throne, and no matter that Nathaniel himself was understandably bitter and angry with her for how she had dealt with the situation, she was still in love with him.

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, even though in retrospect, it shouldn't have. While she had spent months loathing his father for what he had done and years afterward helping her brother rebuild their family home, she had _never_ placed any blame on Nathaniel. She had kept his last letter to her tucked into her belongings during the Blight, bringing it out and rereading his words until she could recite them from memory, for Andraste's sake. Even the Sloth demon in the Circle tower had been able to see her heart, offering her the illusion of happiness with Nate in return for slowly wasting away in the Fade. She had ultimately seen the lie for what it was, but the encounter had rattled her.

She wished that her Mabari hound was there with her, if only so that she would have someone to talk to. Unfortunately for her, Quinn was needed more in Highever. Ever since she had taken the hound back to their old home in order to help with the clean-up, Quinn had stuck to her and Fergus' sides like glue. Moira hadn't minded at the time; Fergus had been so distant as they had arranged for Oriana and little Oren's funerals and it seemed that nothing Moira did could break through the stony defenses he had put up. He had worried her, how he had bottled up his grief and guarded his heart from even her. She had been deathly afraid that he would keep everything in, that he would slowly start to waste away while she was helpless to do anything except watch her last living relative's spirit die right in front of her eyes. Yet one day, Quinn had given her brother's hand a nudge with his great big head and Fergus had fallen to his knees, wrapping his arms around Quinn's neck and sobbing into his fur. The two of them had been inseparable ever since, and it had only made sense to leave him in Highever when she set out for Amaranthine.

Not for the first time since arriving at the Keep, she wished that Alistair was around. Over the years the two of them had become the dearest of friends. While Eamon was Alistair's chancellor, Alistair usually came to Moira first when he had questions. Moira had protested in the beginning, but had eventually come to realize that he was using her as a sounding board so that he could gain her opinion and judge it against his own before going to Eamon. It didn't hurt that the two of them thought on the same wavelength, smoothly transitioning from moving tandem on the battlefield dispatching darkspawn to working seamlessly in the throne room attacking procedures and regulations. Eamon had commented on numerous occasions that she would make the perfect Queen for Alistair, but she had refused each time. It wasn't that she didn't love Alistair, but it was that she loved him like she would love a brother and their union would ultimately demand an heir that she could honestly never see them attempt to produce.

She had brought that point up to Alistair himself, and she felt as if he had said something to Eamon, because the man had quickly dropped the subject some time after.

But what she wouldn't give to have Alistair with her. Out of everyone, he was the one person who knew her almost better than she knew herself. He would understand what she was feeling where Nathaniel was concerned. He might not have the right words to say all the time, but he would have held out his arms and hugged her until she was certain that things were going to be all right. Everyone else might see him as the King Who Saved Ferelden, but to Moira, Alistair was nothing but a giant teddy bear.

Getting up from the chair, she fought against her better judgment and perched on the edge of the mattress. "Do you really hate me so?" she whispered, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind Nathaniel's ear. She gave into temptation and ran her fingers down his cheek, staring down at his face that she had long since memorized. She had been ten and he twelve the first time that she had thought he was handsome. She still found him attractive, thinking that he had grown even more so in the years that he had been gone. He'd always been a quiet boy, preferring to sit and read when she had wanted to run outside and climb trees. He had kept his quiet nature as he grew older, which only added to his appeal. There was something about the line of his jaw, the spark of intelligence in his eyes, the strength in his hands that had gotten her interest in earnest when she had been fifteen. As a teenager, she had chalked her interest up to the type of girlish fantasies that led every maid in the castle to sigh over Fergus and Rory while they sparred together in the garrison's training circle, yet as she had grown up that interest had turned into outright affection, especially after Nathaniel confessed that he shared her feelings. Each letter that she had received from him while he had been away had been treasured, and she had anticipated the day that he would finally come home.

_And when I return, nothing would make me happier than the ability to tell everyone that you're my wife._

_Ask me properly when you return, but know that my answer will be yes._

_Yes? Truly? _

_Yes. Even if you ask me a thousand times, I will always say yes._

Moira looked down at Nathaniel, who hadn't moved or seemed aware that she was sitting next to him. Very carefully, she lightly ran a finger over his bottom lip, thinking back to all the times where she had been free to kiss him. Unfortunately, all of that had come to a screeching halt in her family's larder, and then died outright in a dark dungeon. Moira bit her lip and stroked his cheek again. How could she even begin to contemplate him falling back in love with her after everything that had happened between their families? How could she even think anything of the sort when it was obvious that he despised her?

_He never was one to hold grudges,_ a little voice in the back of her head protested.

"Yes, but even the most even tempered man would have a problem rekindling a relationship with the woman who had killed the person he most admired." Besides, he had said some incredibly hurtful things in the dungeon cell, things that still stung. How could he believe that her father would actually betray the king? Bryce Cousland had been an honorable and loyal man; it pained Moira to know that Nathaniel would have believed the lie that his father and Loghain had spread so easily. She thought that her family had meant more to Nathaniel than that, or at least that was what he had often told her himself.

_His father killed your entire family. Does that change the way you feel about him?_

"No. Nathaniel didn't have anything to do with what his father did. As far as I know, he wasn't even aware of his actions."

_Honestly, Moira,_ the voice said, sounding eerily like her mother, _how are you feeling right now?_

"Shocked. Hurt. Angry. Confused. Guilty. I had no right to conscript him. The Joining could have killed him." Thinking back on what she said, she was also ashamed of how she had treated their reunion. Instead of rising above petty insults and barbed comments, she had sunk down to his level, wanting to strike out at him with as much force as he did to her, to make him hurt so he knew just how badly her own heart had been wounded.

_But it didn't._

"He'll still die. It'll just take longer."

_Everyone dies. It just so happens that now both of you know how you'll ultimately go._

"Ah, because dying in the Deep Roads miles under the earth in excruciating pain is the way that _everyone_ wants to meet the Maker." Moira shook her head and let out a tiny laugh. "Look at me, talking to myself. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that I've finally gone mad."

Nathaniel stirred and Moira could feel that he was on the verge of waking. "Will you ever forgive me, I wonder?" she murmured, kissing her fingers and gently pressing them over his slack lips before standing up to go to the fireplace. She stared at the flames, listening as Nathaniel groaned and sat up. Moira had precious seconds to collect her thoughts and hide her feelings behind a layer of protective armor. She might have survived assassination attempts, darkspawn hordes, and an archdemon, but she didn't know if she could survive Nathaniel using the knowledge that she still loved him against her.

Her eyes caught on a book sitting atop the mantel. She had a similar copy in the belongings that she had brought back from Highever that still contained between the pages every single letter he had ever written her. _I meant what I said earlier. No matter what happens, no matter how long I'm away, I will always love you. Nothing can ever change that._ Moira could still smell the water from the docks, the memory of riding to Amaranthine to bid Nathaniel farewell still as fresh in her mind as it had been all those years ago. "It seems as if you've forgotten your promise," she whispered, taking a shaky breath to try and settle her nerves. She closed her eyes and remembered the way that he had gathered her in his arms that day, his head dipping down to kiss her. She had gone onto her tiptoes to better align her body with his, one hand wrapped around his shoulders and the other clutching at his tunic.

That had been the last time that anyone had ever kissed Moira. She took a deep breath before gathering enough courage to turn around.

"So, I see that I didn't manage to die," Nathaniel said, his voice raspy.

"It would seem that way," she replied coolly, walking over to the foot of the bed. Nathaniel had already swung his legs over the mattress and was leaning his elbows on his knees. If he recognized that he was in his boyhood room, he didn't mention anything to her.

"And what," he said, narrowing his eyes at her, "would be your first order for me, _Commander_?"

She flinched and put a steadying hand on the bedpost, physically shoving memories away. "If you are well enough, then come with me back to the throne room. You still use a bow, yes?"

"Normally yes, but you know as well as I do that I can wield a blade as well." They had often gone against the other in their sparring sessions once Moira had finally gotten good enough. Nathaniel was several years of swordsmanship lessons ahead of her, but he had never let a chance pass to give her a tip to help her form.

"We'll just go with what you normally use. There is a possibility that darkspawn still linger in the cellars. You, Anders, Oghren and I will go down there to eliminate that threat."

He stood up and leaned a hand against the same bedpost she had her hand on. "Not afraid that I'll put an arrow through your back?"

She stiffened. _I might not hold it against him that he hates me, but this attitude has got to go._ "That's a worry that I can't afford to have," she said. Then she leaned against the post, her face bare inches from his own. She had the faintest satisfaction of hearing his indrawn breath and watching the way his eyes darkened before continuing. "Besides, I'm certain that at least one of my friends will object to you killing me. Have you ever been on the business end of an axe wielded by a dwarf in full berserker mode?"

"I can't say that I have."

"You don't want to be. I've seen what it can do and it isn't pretty." She ran a critical eye down his body before stepping away. His shoulders _had_ filled out and his chest was broader than she remembered it being. Hopefully she would have something that fit him. "I take it that you still prefer leather armor to the heavier suits?"

"Yes." He broke eye contact first, moving away from the bed and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Good. It just so happens that I have a set of drakescale armor that may suit you after a few slight alterations."

"I _have_ a suit of armor already," he bit out stiffly.

"One that's seen better days. You were out longer than you realize; I had plenty of time to see what you had been wearing." She raised an eyebrow and casually leaned against the bedpost. "The set of armor I'm suggesting you wear offers more protection than your old one. Your bow could stand a few upgrades as well; and there are several in the armory that I've brought with me for you to choose from." She turned to the door and put her hand on the knob. "You coming? Darkspawn aren't likely to kill themselves, you know." She turned her head to find Nathaniel watching her with the most curious look on his face. It wasn't the sneer that he had adopted since she had first seen him in the dungeons, but it wasn't anything that she had remembered from their past either. To her, it seemed as if Nathaniel was trying to figure out a complex puzzle and wondering if there was a piece that just might jump out and bite him in the process.

"Why do you do this?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "As much as you hate me now, I would hate to see you get yourself killed on account of foolish pride." She watched as he made no move to follow before sighing and turning back towards the hallway. He could come down whenever he was ready; she wasn't going to beg.

"I could never truly hate you," he said, his voice so soft that it was apparent that she hadn't been meant to overhear. "I hate what you've done to my family."

Moira tensed and blinked away tears. Hearing him follow her on nearly silent feet, she straightened her posture and flexed her hands, ready to vent her mixed up feelings on any darkspawn that they encountered.

She imagined that had he been there, Alistair would have given her hand a supportive squeeze back.


	4. ballroom blitz

Title: Ballroom Blitz  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #27, splash  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, eventually romantic  
Rating: PG for violence  
Summary: He really shouldn't have been as intrigued by her display of swordsmanship as he was.  
Note: And here is where you can see what specializations I gave everybody in-game and that action scenes are my least favorite things to write.

* * *

"You going to stare at those swords all evening, or are you going to pick one already?"

Moira looked up from where she knelt on the floor, her hands on the edges of the storage trunk. "Sorry," she said, her lips quirking upwards in a smirk. "I don't have the elements at my disposal any time I want them, unlike _some_ of us here."

Anders grinned. "Truly, I don't know how you lesser people even manage." He looked over her shoulder and pointed at a curved sword. "Why don't you take that one? It looks pointy enough."

"I thought you said that there were darkspawn to kill," Nathaniel said in a bored sounding tone, pitching his voice so that it carried from the pillar he was leaning against. He turned the arrow in his hands, inspecting it and setting it back inside his newly acquired quiver when it met his approval. He stretched his arms – the drakescale armor he had been provided with had fit him almost as if it had been custom made to his specifications, which was odd, seeing that the cloth padding underneath still carried a faintly lingering trace of lavender, letting him know just who the suit had belonged to.

Moira's back stiffened and she plucked two longswords out of the chest before shutting it. Nathaniel lifted an eyebrow; he had only seen her wearing the lone dagger at her back and he honestly didn't think that her arms were strong enough to heft even one of those swords with a single hand, let alone two at the same time. Their sparring sessions in the past had always involved daggers, not anything as heavy as the blades she was currently fixing to her back.

"Just you wait," Oghren said, announcing his presence at Nathaniel's elbow with a belch. "She's gonna prove you wrong."

"I didn't say anything."

"Didn't have to. That look you were giving her said it all." He wiped his mouth after taking a swig from the pouch at his side. "Word of warning: stay at least three feet away from her if you don't want blood in your eyes. She gets messy when she starts hacking away at the bad guys."

Nathaniel didn't know what to say to that, so he remained silent as they walked as a group towards the basement. He stayed silent until he felt the most unsettling…_pull_ at his chest.

"What in the Maker's name is that?" he whispered, rubbing his hand along his breastbone.

Moira pressed one of her hands against a nearby wall. "Darkspawn," she replied, her voice so quiet that he had to strain to hear her. "It feels odd at first, but you eventually get used to sensing them."

"Kind of tingly, if you ask me," Anders commented, his lips curled into an unpleasant grimace.

"Remind me not to go near the Deep Roads ever again," Oghren said, hefting his axe in both hands. "If this is what three darkspawn feel like, I don't want to know what hundreds do to me."

"There's more than three behind that door," Moira told them, both of her swords making the faintest hiss as they escaped their sheaths. "There's a magic user somewhere in there, can you feel it?" She could practically taste the feel of magic running through her body and she tried to place the Emissary. Experience told her that it would have to go first, but that it would more than likely be heavily guarded and difficult to get to. "Anders, I want you to spread out an area attack to distract the others while I take care of the Emissary."

"Got it."

"Oghren…"

"I've got your back, Warden. Just like old times."

Moira had to grin and she was grateful that there was at least one person there that she had fought extensively with before. While she and Oghren weren't as in tune with each other as she and Alistair were, they had always worked well together. Oghren usually waded into the fray first, leaving Moira to sneak up and stab their opponent in the back.

She felt something settle around her that made her look down. "This is new," she commented, moving her arm so she could see what looked to be a barrier in the torchlight better.

Oghren shrugged. "Told ya I've got your back. I picked up a couple new tricks staying topside."

"A Berserker _and_ a Guardian. I'm impressed."

He looked pleased, but hid the expression in his beard. "Just don't make me haveta use it that often. I'm still workin' all the kinks out."

"What would you have me do?" Nathaniel asked, reaching for an arrow. He was tense. This sensation in his chest was completely unnerving, but if Moira could stand there and seem unaffected by it, then he would do his best to do the same.

She turned her head towards him. "Pick off the stragglers and help out anyone that may need it." She didn't give him a chance to say anything else; she snapped her foot out and kicked the door open. Nathaniel had a brief second to assess the room before everything erupted into a flurry of activity. Oghren let out a bellow as he rushed in, his axe sinking into the unprotected side of a Hurlock. Anders dropped his sarcastic demeanor and looked deadly serious as a cone of ice flared from the end of his staff, freezing a Shriek in its place.

And Moira…the hair at the back of Nathaniel's neck rose up on end at the sight of her pressing her way further into the room, her target clearly the darkspawn channeling magical energy. Not only was she fully capable of swinging each blade with one hand, but she was clearly good at what she did. Oghren might have said that she crudely hacked her way through her enemies, but her movements looked more like a deadly dance instead, her body moving with a fluid grace he'd never seen before. Her left blade sank into a Hurlock's chest while her right blade cut into its neck, severing its head as easily as a hot knife would run through butter. She turned towards a new opponent in her way, the braids framing her face swinging with each movement as her arms shifted from one attack to another.

She was _beautiful_, even as her face was spattered with dark blood from her kill.

"A little help here would be appreciated," Anders muttered from Nathaniel's left, pulling him out of his dazed stupor. Nathaniel shook himself, taking aim and letting an arrow fly.

Moira heard the arrow whizz past her ear and she turned, both her swords at the ready to defend herself from the Hurlock that had snuck up behind her while she had been busy dispatching its partner. Fortunately for her, her would-be attacker was already falling to the ground, an arrow lodged firmly in its eye. She jumped over the corpse and rolled to the right, her back hitting a large crate that was serving as cover while she caught her breath and her bearings. All the Shrieks were dead and the remaining Hurlocks were either getting roasted via Anders or hacked into bits by Oghren, leaving only the Emissary to deal with. Moira hugged the nearby wall and tried to pinpoint just where it was. One false move and she could easily wind up on the wrong end of a deadly spell.

"Straight ahead and to your right!" Nathaniel yelled, letting another arrow sail over her head. Moira used it as a tracking device and sprung up from her hiding spot, a cry spilling from her lips as she lunged forward. Whatever spell the Emissary had been preparing had been interrupted by Nathaniel's arrow and it struggled to free its leg from where it had been pinned to the floor. Swinging both her blades in unison, she brought them down in a deadly arc, severing the Emissary's arm from its body and sending a splash of blood against the wall. It howled in agony and reached out with its other hand to send a blast of raw energy towards her.

There was a dark flicker at the edge of Moira's peripheral vision and she was jerked to the side, the blast missing her completely. She pivoted on her heel to see just what had attacked her, but there was no one there. Another dark flicker in the corner of her eye had her turning back to her original enemy; with a yell, she made a move to plunge her sword into the Emissary's chest, but stopped at the last second. Something wasn't right.

"I should thank you for not running it through," Nathaniel said sarcastically from behind the Emissary, the dagger he held imbedded deep into the darkspawn's neck until the tip was visible from the front. Moira had to try to focus; she could clearly hear Nathaniel in front of her, but it was difficult to see him against the shadows that the sparsely lit room threw. If she had put her sword through the darkspawn like she had wanted to, she would have surely gotten Nathaniel as well.

"And I should thank you for pulling me aside," she replied, wiping her blades on the now dead Emissary's clothes before putting them away. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins and she fought to keep her voice from sounding unsteady.

"You did say to help anyone that needed it." For the first time since he had seen her again, he dropped the cold tone from his voice. "You're quite skilled; did I detect a hint of Dualist training?"

She smirked. "Perhaps." She had finally picked him out from amongst the shadows. "It seems as if Oghren isn't the only one to pick up new talents."

Nathaniel stepped around the corpse on the ground and into the light, seemingly materializing out of thin air. "Shadow skills do have their uses."

"However did you get caught in the first place?" Moira wondered, the words coming out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He gave her a rueful smile. "Plain dumb luck, apparently."

"Remind me never to get you angry while you're around sharp objects," Anders said, coming up next to them. "Any injuries?"

Moira rolled her shoulders and shook her head. "No." There was a slight pull to her left arm that would more than likely need liniment afterwards, but the blood on her armor was not her own.

"All that politicking you've done at the palace has made you soft," Oghren said critically, crouching down to collect a few silver pieces from another corpse. "You're running a little slower than usual. Your timing was off; it didn't use to take you nearly this long to cut up the bad guys."

"So says the man who's been enjoying the quiet married life since the Blight ended." Moira sighed and rotated her right wrist. "But you are right; I am a little rusty." While she hadn't exactly stopped training while taking up residence in the palace, she could have used a little more time in the practice ring.

_If that was rusty, _Nathaniel thought, _then I would hate to have seen her in top condition._ "Somehow I have a feeling that these weren't the only darkspawn left," he said instead, moving around the room to pick up discarded arrows to refill his quiver. His eyes casually read the years on several dusty bottles of wine nearby and he made a mental note to revisit the cellar when everything was all said and done.

"You're right," Moira said. "We can't afford to linger here. Are you ready to continue, Anders?" While Morrigan had never admitted it during their travels, Moira had noticed that the mage had needed a brief rest to recover mana without having to resort to lyrium potions. Wynne had been the same way after doing any heavy healing, so Moira assumed that it was the same for all mages.

"Ready and able to zap baddies into oblivion," he told her cheerfully, letting out a low whistle as he also scanned the labels in the wine racks. "The Arl had good taste."

"Most of these were my grandfather's," Nathaniel agreed. He had a feeling that Anders was also thinking of revisiting the cellars after the threat was taken care of. Quiver finally restocked, he walked back over to Moira. The feeling in the center of his chest was back again.

"How many do you think are left?" he asked.

"It's hard to say. How deep do these cellars go?"

Nathaniel shrugged. "I have no idea. We weren't allowed to go down very far when I was younger." The only thing that had stopped him in his youth was the fact that the doors leading deeper into the cellars had always been locked, but try as he might, he had never been able to pick them open.

"You do realize that we're having a civil conversation. We haven't said anything scathing to the other for at least twenty minutes. It could be a record." Moira practically kicked herself for saying anything; she had been secretly pleased at the fact that Nathaniel had been impressed with her fighting skills. Why did she have to ruin the moment?

Nathaniel tensed at her side. "If it makes you feel any better, I could sneer at you and say something vaguely insulting right about now." He ran a hand through his hair and looked at her. "I just figured that I'd spend all my energy trying to stay unharmed instead of wasting my time being angry with you."

"I…" she didn't know what to say. "I appreciate that, Nathaniel."

"It doesn't mean that I've forgiven you for what you've done, but I thought that if we're going to be fighting together, the least we can do is be polite towards one another." He gave her a sidelong glance and she could have sworn that the corner of his mouth quirked up, but it was too dark to tell. "Besides, I've now seen what an axe can do while a dwarf in full berserker mode swings it around. You were right; it isn't pretty."

She let out a relieved sounding laugh, realizing that the knot that had settled in her chest had loosened. "I told you that it wasn't." She flexed her fingers and walked towards a closed door. "Are you ready to continue?"

Nathaniel nodded, fitting an arrow against his bow. "Lead the way, Commander."


	5. hold on hope

Title: Hold on Hope  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #21, be an angel  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, eventually romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: Fallout from exploring the basement has Nathaniel wandering the halls late at night.

* * *

When he had been younger, Nathaniel had a habit of wandering the Keep during bouts of sleeplessness. It seemed as if that tendency hadn't changed now that he was older. He'd left his armor in his room, preferring to make his way in the darkness as stealthily as possible in plain clothing. Even after being gone for so long, the hallways and corridors were as familiar to him as they had always been. Without really noticing where he was going, he found himself atop the highest battlement, the view overlooking the sea.

Adria had loved the sea.

With that thought, Nathaniel leaned his forearms against the battlement's ledge and bowed his head. He might have handled the news of her death a little better if he hadn't been the one to have actually killed her. He let out a shuddering breath, the memory of her charging at him with daggers in her hands and an almost feral expression on her usually serene face still fresh in his mind.

A slight noise had him turning to his right. Moira stood in the doorway leading downstairs, a mug of something steaming in her hands. "I'm sorry," she said, already backing up. "I didn't know that anyone was here."

"It's all right," Nathaniel told her. "There's plenty of room for someone else." He shifted over and watched her from the corner of his eye as she leaned against the wall a few feet away. Moira looked somewhat smaller, more approachable, out of her armor. As Arlessa, Nathaniel had expected to see Moira in a dress befitting her title, but she had chosen a dark blue shirt and light brown breeches instead. He had also expected the silence to be somewhat awkward, but he found her quiet presence soothing. The breeze picked up and carried over the scent of the tea she was carefully sipping.

"Couldn't sleep?" Moira asked, breaking the silence.

"No. You?"

She shook her head. "I never sleep well after a fight," she admitted. Her shoulder hurt like hell from where she had pulled a muscle, but it wasn't enough to ask Anders to heal it. She'd see to making a poultice herself before she went back to her chambers to attempt to get some sleep. "Sometimes I wonder if the dreams I have are actual darkspawn or just ordinary nightmares."

"Do they happen often?" What he knew about the Wardens was enough to fill a thimble; if he were to spend the rest of his life as one, he would like to know as much as he could. Surely the shortened lifespan and unsettling ability to detect darkspawn couldn't be the extent of his newly gained powers.

She shook her head. "Not as often as they did during the Blight, but just enough to let me know that they're in the area." She took a sip from her mug and set it aside on the ledge. "I'm sorry about Adria."

"She was like a mother to me," he said softly, looking away from Moira and out towards the sea again. "In truth, she was more of a mother than my actual one. Even after Delilah and Thomas were born, she always had time for me. After we were all too old for a governess, my father had her move into the kitchens. She'd often make these amazing apple pastries that she'd set aside for us."

"My governess did the exact same thing," Moira said quietly, rubbing her arms to combat the nighttime chill. "Except she would let Fergus and I have spice cookies and warn us not to ruin our appetites for supper." She hadn't expected it to, but she had been affected by Adria's death as well. Standing over the woman's body had triggered the memory of finding Nan that horrible night. Like Adria, an arrow had protruded from Nan's breast, and Moira remembered how the moonlight from the kitchen windows had caught on the fillet knife clutched tightly in her former nanny's hand.

"I remember those," Nathaniel told her. "Fergus and I would always wander in and out of the kitchens whenever I visited Highever. Nan used to spoil me with those meat and potato pastries of hers she knew I favored."

"You always were her favorite. I think that's because you were the best behaved out of us three older children." She couldn't help but smile fondly at the memory. "I wish that I would have had a chance to spend more time with Adria when we were younger. She was a remarkable woman." Thinking back, Moira just how calm the Howe's governess had been. Her face very rarely strayed from its peaceful expression save for when she was laughing at her charges' antics or when she read aloud from a book, her voice and manner growing as animated as the subject material, making each word jump off the page.

"That she was. She never raised her voice, but she managed to get my siblings and me to behave her perfectly." He smiled. "She often called us her little angels, even when we were too old for such names." He looked out towards the water in the distance, his mind going back to the many times that as a very young boy, Adria would allow him to sit in her lap while she read story after story to him. Most of her tales had been about pirates or rogues or young men set off to find their fortunes, and he had been enchanted by the way she made the words come off the page. She was the one to first teach him how to read and write before any tutors, and it had been her that he had gone to first to share any news.

She had most certainly been the first one to know about Moira. She had been the _only_ one to know how he had truly felt about Bryce Cousland's daughter. "She liked you very much," he said softly. He clenched his hands into fists and grit his teeth. "By Andraste, the _screams…_"

Moira tentatively put a hand on his arm. The move made him turn his head towards her and her heart twisted at the anguished look on his face. "That hadn't been her," she said carefully, trying to find the right words.

"Then what? By the time we had made it down to her, she had already been turned into a ghoul?"

"Yes."

"But wasn't there anything that we could have done differently? Isn't there any cure?"

Moira shook her head. "As far as we know, there isn't. Once a person is tainted, they cannot be turned back. She would have suffered even more if you hadn't…"

"Hadn't killed her, you mean." His voice was bitter with a brittle edge to it, as if he were trying to keep his emotions in check. He wasn't paying attention, so he tensed when he felt Moira lean against his side, her arm against his back as she gave him a brief sideways hug.

"What was that for?" he asked, looking down at her as she moved away.

"You looked like you needed it," she explained, looking away from him. "I know that it probably wasn't welcome, but…" she looked back up at him and gave him a sad smile. "It seems as if I still can't stand to see you unhappy."

At any other time, Nathaniel was certain that he would have lashed out with a scathing comment, but just then he felt so bare, his nerves so completely _raw_, that he went with his gut instinct. Turning so that he was facing her, he reached out and wrapped her up in a proper embrace before she could recoil away from him.

"Thank you," he murmured, his words muffled by the cushion of her hair. He couldn't help but tighten his arms around her, remembering the last time that he had held her like this. _This was a mistake,_ he thought, feeling his throat close up on itself and his heart roll painfully in his chest. He closed his eyes tightly and clenched his teeth, wondering how much more loss he would have to go through before he finally became numb to his grief. Moira shivered in his arms and let out a noise that almost sounded like a muffled sob. He felt her hands slide up his back, grabbing onto his shirt and holding on as if her life depended on it. Her face was pressed against the crook of his neck and he tried to ignore the way that the skin there felt damp, her breath warmly puffing against his throat. Nathaniel didn't know how long they stood there like that, but he eventually let go of her and stepped back.

"You're welcome," she turned her back on him, her voice thick as she replied. Moira's fingers were trembling as she reached for her discarded mug, her eyes blinking rapidly to try to gain some control over the situation. "I think I'm going to try and get some sleep. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow." Mistress Woolsey had explained how the trade routes between Amaranthine and Denerim had recently been under attack and it was crucial to Amaranthine's economy to make sure that the roads stayed safe. Moira was planning on going into town in the morning to see if she could get any information from the Merchant's Guild first before setting out on a scouting trip to see if she could find anything suspicious.

Unfortunately, it _was_ almost morning. If Moira wanted to be alert, she was going to have to get some rest before the sun came up. Still completely shaken from Nathaniel's hug, she wondered just how difficult it was going to be to sleep after all. "Goodnight, Nathaniel."

"Goodnight." He watched as she walked down the stairs leading back into the Keep before tilting his head up and looking at the stars above. Things were so different now. With Adria gone, the last link to his former life was gone as well. He didn't know where he belonged or how he was supposed to act as a Warden.

_Figure things out as you go, my angel,_ Adria had once been fond of telling him when he came to her with his problems. _Things might not be as bad as you think they are. _Nathaniel sighed and headed towards the stairs. He had a great deal of things to figure out, starting with Moira. It seemed as if they had come to some sort of unspoken truce where they weren't snipping the other's head off and actually acting in a civilized manner towards the other. He had expected far less, especially since he hadn't exactly been nice since seeing her again. _Nice is an understatement, don't you think,_ he wondered. _Then again, she hasn't exactly given you a reason to act any other way, now has she?_

_It seems as if I still can't stand to see you unhappy. _He quietly made his way back towards his bedchambers, mulling over her words. Would it be wise to nurture a thin sliver of hope that she might still feel something for him? Would it be wise on his part to wonder if perhaps he might be able to put aside his feelings and let himself love her again? Was he a fool for wondering if she had been as affected by their hug as he had?

He kicked off his boots and flopped onto his bed. "Perhaps she was acting on pity," Nathaniel said to the ceiling. "Probably doesn't want any of her soldiers to be distracted, so she just acted like she cared. She's a killer; what's to stop her from being a liar as well?" Somehow that explanation didn't ring true to him, but he decided to believe it nonetheless, if only so that his mind would stop lingering on the what ifs when it came to her. If there was anything positive that he could take out of their conversation, it was that talking to Moira managed to help push the horrifying images of Adria to the back of his mind, allowing him to remember the fallen woman as she had once been, not what she had become.

It was too bad that their talk and the emotions it had stirred up hadn't done anything for his sleeplessness. He rolled to his side and held onto his pillow, still feeling the ghostly imprint of Moira's body in his arms. For a brief second, it hadn't mattered to him that she might have lied to him, that the tears still drying on the collar of his tunic might have been fake. All that mattered was that the scent still lingering on his clothes gave him some measure of peace, if only for a little while.


	6. a case of you

Title: A Case of You  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #9, Footprints  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, eventually romantic  
Rating: PG for slight violence, Origin spoiler in 5th paragraph.  
Summary: Moira misses a certain mage, Nathaniel takes stock of his Commander's skills, and Oghren gives the "You Hurt My Friend and I Hurt You" speech. Bandits are also involved.

* * *

"Don't see why we left the mage behind," Oghren complained, grunting while Moira applied a freshly made poultice to his neck. The sticky paste of herbs tingled as it worked its way into the cut at his throat. They hadn't even stepped three feet into the Wending Wood when they had been attacked by bandits. One of the bandits they had encountered had nearly pinned him with an arrow, but his armor had deflected the worst of it.

"And I don't see why you left your helmet behind," she replied, brushing her hands off before starting on a fresh bandage for herself. She could feel blood running down her forearm and she hoped that she wouldn't have to give herself any stitches to hold her over until Anders could take a look at it. "Anders said that he wanted to sit this one out. Something about the woods giving him the creeps." She spread a thin layer of reddish herbal paste on a linen strip and slowly wound it around the injury, mentally cursing at her armor's sad lack of protection around her arms. The set had several weak points, especially wherever her arms or legs bent, but she liked wearing it because it did offer her the same level of protection around more vital areas that heavier full-plate armor did while still being lightweight and supple enough for her to quickly maneuver on the battlefield. Besides, Wade had been so proud of himself when he had presented it to her in Denerim and his productivity went up a notch whenever he saw her wearing one of his creations. She'd endure patching herself up if it meant that her soldiers at the Keep would get better armor in a timelier manner. "You never complained about using poultices before."

Oghren snorted as he checked the edge of his axe. "That's because Morrigan was the one in charge of making them for us. _You_ try complaining to her. She probably put frog guts and who knows what else in 'em."

Moira smirked and shook her head, her fingers clumsy as she tried to tie the bandage one-handed. "I certainly hope not," she said, moving her fingers aside when Oghren took over, wincing as he fastened the bandage a little tighter than she would have. "I've been making these all wrong if she did." Morrigan had been their principal healer before Wynne had joined their group. The vast majority of her spells were of a destructive nature instead of medicinal, but she had an encyclopedic knowledge of potions and healing poultices. Over the months of travel, Moira had befriended her and Morrigan had taught her skills that most herbalists depended on in return. Morrigan could have stopped teaching her when Moira had gotten the hang of the basics, but Moira liked to think that the normally reclusive apostate had liked her company enough that she had continued to teach until Moira knew how to create third tier remedies. She was certain that by putting in a little more effort and using manuals as a guide that she'd be able to expand her knowledge even further.

Moira scanned the horizon for any other bandits. She thought about Morrigan and the child that Alistair had fathered, hoping that they were all right wherever they were. She couldn't help but wonder about the little boy or girl with the soul of an Old God. Did they have Alistair's eyes? Was their hair as dark as their mother's? Had they even lived past infancy, seeing that the last report that had come in had placed a pregnant Morrigan wandering the Frostback Mountains. While staying true to her word, Moira had never actively tried to find them, but little hints here and there during darkspawn scouting reports had shown up.

"I'd say there are about twenty, maybe thirty more bandits wandering around somewhere," Oghren said, looking into the trees.

"More like ten or twelve, if you look at the footprints," Moira pointed out, flexing her arm to test the bandage and sighing in relief as the poultice numbed the pain. "Something happened to scare them all, which is why they're all scattered like they are."

"This doesn't look like the work of regular bandits," Nathaniel noted, looking closer at the ruined caravan. Broken tree branches were jabbed into the splintered wooden frame. He too had noticed the way that the dirt path had been littered with scuffed up footprints, almost as if someone was trying to run from something.

Moira nodded. "I agree." She turned over a broken log with her foot, revealing a partially hidden chest. "We should all keep our eyes open for anything suspicious." The lock was easy to pick, and Moira noticed that there was a bolt of silk fabric inside. She ran her hand over it, appreciating the texture, before taking it out and putting it into her pack.

"I can't believe you're going to try to collect them all now," Nathaniel said.

She found another bolt of fabric in a nearby crate and hugged it close to her. "And why not? If we wait any longer, then perhaps the bandits that we're looking for will come back and get their prizes. It's best to collect everything now while we have the chance."

"And I take it that you're going to do those rubbings for that scholar as well?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps. It depends on where these statues are located and if there's any danger around them. And before you ask, yes, I am going to find Ines for Wynne. She's a dear friend of mine and I owe it to her to at least look."

"Would have been better if she was around," Oghren grumped. "She would have just waved her staff and healed us all by now."

Moira rolled her eyes before moving further down the path. Nathaniel followed in his customary spot at the back of their group, ready to defend his companions should they get into another fight. It was strange how they had all come to an unspoken agreement on battle arrangements. Oghren and Moira took the lead as well as the brunt of the blows while Nathaniel and Anders stayed behind to inflict injury at a distance. Nathaniel's job was to pluck off any enemies that might come from behind their two main damage dealers as well as defend Anders while the mage concentrated to cast spells. Seeing that Anders had decided to stay at the Keep for this investigation, Nathaniel was able to focus more on keeping his other two fellow Wardens alive.

This also meant that he was able to contemplate Moira's fighting techniques. He grudgingly acknowledged that she was a skilled rogue whose attacks were quick and efficient, her blades making the most impact while wasting very little energy. Her fighting style almost reminded him of something he'd seen during his tour of the Antivan border and he clearly recognized techniques unique to the assassins that lived there, making him wonder how she had picked up her skills. Her dualist training was even more apparent; not only did she have a knack for evading enemy blows, but it seemed as if she could place herself far behind her target, taking her opponent by surprise with a stab in the back.

_A stab in the back,_ Nathaniel thought, the words forming bitterly in his mouth. _It seems that it's something the Couslands are good at._ He might not know the full story of what happened that night, but he still refused to believe that his father would kill the Teyrn of Highever along with the rest of his family. It made no sense to him; as an arling, Amaranthine depended on Teyrn Cousland's protection. Besides, his father and Bryce had been friends for years. They'd ridden off into battle together; their children had grown up together and befriended the other…

Nathaniel glanced at Moira. She was kneeling beside the trail, her fingers tracing an odd print in the dirt. Once upon a time, the Howes and the Couslands might have become closer than friends, seeing that he had intended on asking for Moira's hand the first moment that he had been able to return home. Shaking his head, he brought himself back to the present.

"This is not a bandit's mark," he said, crouching down beside her.

"It looks almost like a tree root," Moira said, looking further down the trail. "There were living trees that had attacked us in the Brecilian Forest; these could be the same type of creatures."

"Any hints on how to fight them if they attack?"

Moira sighed, wishing that Anders had decided to join them. "Fire. It seemed to work best, or at least distract them enough that Alistair and I could get in enough hits to bring them down." She looked down at her left side. While her armor covered it, she knew that there was a jagged white scar that ran along the outside of her arm from her wrist to her elbow. "Be careful; they tend to summon roots that will surround an entire person."

"Not your run of the mill rose thorns, I gather?"

"No, much worse." The root that had caused her scar had gone deep enough to hit bone. It was a wonder that it hadn't gone through her arm entirely. "There's smoke in the distance."

Nathaniel nodded. "It's small, more than likely from a campfire." He reached behind him and took out an arrow from his quiver. "We should probably keep alert for an ambush."

She looked at him, opening her mouth as if to say something. Nathaniel noticed that it seemed like she was having a hard time getting her thoughts in order. "Commander?" he asked, arching his eyebrow. "Was there anything else you wanted to add?"

"I was just going to say that I forgot how well you could read tracks. It's been a while since we've wandered the woods together." Her eyes softened for a moment and the corner of her mouth lifted into a faint smile. "And I wanted to thank you for watching my back."

Nathaniel felt something in his chest unfurl at her praise, but he squashed it down. "I'm only doing what's expected of me," he replied cooly, moving away from her. He tried to ignore the guilty feeling at seeing her smile quickly disappear and her eyes harden as she slipped back behind her role as Warden-Commander, but couldn't quite manage to.

"Of course," she said quietly, unsheathing her swords and moving ahead of him, her body tense and braced for an attack. Whether the attack she was anticipating was from ahead of her or behind her, he couldn't tell.

"You've gone and pissed her off," Oghren commented, falling into step beside Nathaniel. "Don't know what the history is between you two, but I've never seen her like this."

Nathaniel snorted. "I seem to have that effect on people."

Oghren's eyes narrowed. "Just a friendly warning; the Warden's on the short list of people I consider my friends. You keep on pissing her off and you piss _me_ off, understood?"

"Understood."

"Good." Oghren threw the poultice he had been holding against his neck into the nearby brush. "One good thing about her mood is that she gets rid of the bad guys faster when she's mad. Takes them down harder too. I'd sure hate to be in their place."

Nathaniel couldn't help but notice that the dwarf was staring at him pointedly. "Also noted," he said dryly. He fitted an arrow against his bow and took a shot, hitting a bandit that was about to jump from their hiding spot above them. The bandit gave a cry as he fell, the arrow lodged in his shoulder. Moira spun on her heel, taking him out with one well placed blow. The bandit's cry brought others to his aid and Nathaniel's eyes widened when he saw one of the trees uproot itself and slowly lumber towards them. Oghren ran to Moira's side, his rusty sounding chuckle trailing behind him. Her answering laugh followed and the trail, muddy to begin with, soon ran red.

Nathaniel shook his head as he took aim at the others who had come running towards them. "I'm surrounded by lunatics," he muttered to himself, moving to the side to avoid the swing of Oghren's axe. His foot slipped as he stepped in a patch of mud, making his arrow hit his target in the leg instead of the chest as he had originally intended it to. "Next time, I'm making Anders go along and _I'll_ stay at the Keep."


	7. when push comes to shove

Title: When Push Comes to Shove  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #22; ichi-go, ichi-e  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, eventually romantic  
Rating: PG for violence  
Summary: The thought of killing her shouldn't have sent him into such a panic.  
Note: From Wikipedia, the term ichi-go, ichi-e is also much repeated in budō (martial ways). It is sometimes used to admonish students who become careless or frequently stop techniques midway to "try again," rather than moving on with the technique despite the mistake. In a life-or-death struggle, there is no chance to "try again."

* * *

Realistically, he should have known that it would come to this. They had recently met and defeated Oghren and Velanna's doppelgangers, so logically, Nathaniel knew that his and Moira's were soon to follow.

It still didn't make defending himself against Moira's double any easier, especially when it shrieked and came at him with both swords drawn. His blood ran cold as he remembered Adria's screams and he let out a cry when the double's right sword cut through the thin leather of his scavenged armor. He shuddered, trapping its blades with the daggers he had picked up since escaping from their cell. He placed a boot against the double's midsection and pushed, successfully kicking it away from him. A quick glance to the side showed him that the rest of his companions were dealing with the darkspawn that had joined the attack. He tried to scan the dim cavern to see if he could find his own shadow, but was halted when Moira's double lunged at him again.

"Kill it!" Moira yelled from his right, her dagger swinging up in front of her to deflect an arrow. She traced it back to the far end of the room where Nathaniel's twin stood, already taking aim at her again. She was too far away to help Nathaniel, and she knew that Oghren and Velanna had the rapidly dwindling darkspawn numbers under control. Shoving herself to the side of the cavern, she used the dim light to her advantage. Holding her breath, she sank into the shadows, remembering all the lessons in stealth that Leliana had taught her. She managed to get in close enough range to see the sallow skin of Nathaniel's imposter, noting how it turned its bow left and right. It had three targets in plain view to shoot at, but it seemed as if it was searching _specifically_ for her. Her grip on the lone blade she had picked up was slippery as her palms began to sweat. _That isn't him,_ she thought, slinking around a column made up of wooden scaffolding. _Keep your eyes off its face and treat it just as you would any other enemy._ If she could get closer, she could put an Assassin's Mark on it. Her mind went back to the countless nights on watch where she and Zevran would practice the maneuver over and over again until she had performed it to his satisfaction. _It will be fun,_ the Antivan had assured her. _I will make it fun._

She knew that she shouldn't have taken her eyes off her target, but she couldn't help but look back at Nathaniel. With the cold, barely civil way he had been treating her since they had met up again, she would have thought that he would have relished having the chance to plunge his knives into her clone's heart.

The anguished look that twisted his features stole her breath and told her otherwise. Even from where she was at, she could see that he was hurt, blood running down his arm in rivulets. He was fighting defensively; she remembered how well he used to be in swordplay when he and Fergus would spar, but he wasn't attacking at all, even when her double presented a clear opening. He tried to stun it, but it seemed as if her double had the same resistances that she herself did. Letting out the breath she had been holding, she ran up to Nathaniel's imposter, her knife hitting its bow, the blow sending teeth-jarring aftershocks up her arm. "Under the arm," she yelled, circling her enemy. It had thrown the now useless bow to the side and took out one of the daggers Nathaniel had picked out from the Keep's armory. "There's a weak spot in my armor on the left side, close to the clasps near the ribcage."

Nathaniel kicked Moira's double away again, examining its armor to see if Moira told the truth. Sure enough, he saw the opening that he needed, but… _I can do this, _he told himself, parrying another blow. _This isn't her._ When the next attack came, Nathaniel lunged forward, using his momentum to shove his dagger into the small weak spot, his wrist twisting as he brought the blade past the ribs and into the double's vital organs. It gave a final rattling gasp, its eyes wide in pain, before slumping lifeless against his shoulder. He closed his eyes and stepped backwards, letting the body fall to the mine floor with a thud. He looked at his hands and had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat at the blood that covered his skin. It was only then that he felt the sharp, stinging pain at his bicep and the trickle of blood running down his arm. Clutching the injury, he knelt next to the body and numbly began unbuckling clasps to the armor. _Moira would hate to have her armor bloodied, _he thought, glancing up at her. Oghren and Velanna had finished off the rest of the darkspawn; Velanna had come to his side and was silently assessing his injury, her lips moving as she soundlessly recited a healing spell.

"Aren't you going to help her?" Nathaniel asked, looking at Oghren.

"Does it look like she needs any help?" Oghren replied, taking over the removal of Moira's belongings from the double's body. Nathaniel flexed his newly healed arm and watched the fight Moira was still engaged in.

Moira did a little backwards hop as she dodged a wide, sweeping slice from the dagger Nathaniel's double held. It sneered at her and lunged again and Moira prayed that the double hadn't figured out Nathaniel's shadow skills, because if it did, she was going to be in trouble. She winced when the tip of the knife tagged yet failed to pierce her borrowed set of armor, her defense faltering when she had realized the double was moving in a series of attacks Nathaniel had often used on her when they had fought together for sport. _Concentrate, Moira,_ she told herself, lunging into a riposte that the double easily blocked. _You need to end this quickly._ She lashed out with a crippling blow, which made the double drop its guard. That gave her plenty of time to dart behind its back for a finishing attack. She grabbed a handful of hair – it was the wrong texture; she remembered Nathaniel's hair had once slid through her fingers like silk, not stiff like straw – and yanked, exposing the double's throat. _Focus on the feel of steel cutting flesh,_ Zevran had instructed her. _Is it not marvelous?_ Just then she looked up and caught Nathaniel's eyes. In that moment, the feel of hot blood spilling over her fingers and the gurgling death rattle that sounded far too much like Nathaniel's voice felt anything but marvelous. She let out a horrified cry and threw both the dagger and the body away from her, stumbling back with the hand that had escaped getting bloodied covering her mouth. Her breath was coming far too rapidly and she forced herself to go back to the body, to kneel and carefully unlace the heavy leather ties. The room spun and for a moment she thought she was back in the damp dungeon underneath Rendon Howe's Denerim estate, standing over the Arl's dead body. Her hands shook and she jumped when a larger pair covered her fingers.

"I..." she started, looking into Nathaniel's eyes. She could feel her lip begin to tremble and she quickly looked away. "I see you took my advice," she said, regaining her composure. "I'm going to have to ask Wade to fix that once we get back to the Keep."

Nathaniel saw the way that Moira fought to keep her voice even, grateful that she felt just as unsettled as he did. It didn't matter that he disliked her. It didn't matter that she had killed his father and taken his entire family down with him. What mattered right at that second was the fact that she had hated killing his lookalike just as much as he had hated killing hers. If she had reacted any other way, he might not have had the overwhelming urge to gather her in his arms, reassuring them both that they still lived.

He didn't though, but he did reach out to rub at a smear of blood that had marred her chin. She inhaled sharply through her nose, but didn't recoil from his touch. "We need to get moving," he said quietly, looking her in the eye.

She nodded, slowly standing up and walking towards the heap of armor that Oghren had left her. Quickly shedding the clothing she had woken up in, she buckled herself into the dragonskin armor and returned her swords to their sheaths strapped to her back. She gave her double a closer look. The facial features were almost identical to hers, but there was something not quite spot on. Oghren had stripped the body down to its smallclothes and Moira could see that where her skin was littered with scars both large and small, her double's was perfectly smooth. _This was not me,_ she thought, standing up as she fumbled with the last of her armor's buckles. Nathaniel had also finished arming himself, his eyes looking critically over the bow Moira had ruined. One of his hands held the now useless weapon while the other held tightly onto whatever pendant he normally wore.

"We can't do that again," she said carefully, coming up to him, noting that he nonchalantly shoved his necklace down underneath his armor. "We can't afford to hesitate."

"You're right," he told her, his tone rough. He tossed the broken bow to the side and picked up the knife he had discarded. Moira put a hand on his arm and held out one of her longswords.

"I don't need two of these right now," she said, as a way of apologizing for destroying his weapon.

He took it, not saying anything for a while. "My kidneys."

"Pardon?"

"There is a weak spot in my armor directly above my kidneys." He glanced sideways at her. "It's only fair that you know my weakness since I now know yours." He wanted to tell her that he wasn't angry for the way that she had dealt with his double, that he knew that she was fighting it as a random enemy instead of fighting it as if he had been the one attacking her.

She gave him the smallest of smiles, the knot that had been forming at her shoulders loosening. "Thank you," she whispered, reaching up. For a moment, Nathaniel thought that she was going to cup his cheek with her hand, just like she used to, but she merely swiped her thumb against the neck of his armor, wiping away the last trace of blood his double had left on it.

Moira let her hand linger longer than necessary against his chest before collecting herself and stepping away. "We need to go that way," she said, pointing towards the left. There was a distinct odor of sulfur wafting that way that Moira recognized from the time she had gone into the mountains to look for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. If there was ever a place that the dragon tamer who had stolen Keenan's wedding ring would be, the left hand tunnel would be it. She began walking that way, Oghren and Velanna falling into step behind her.

Nathaniel gave his double's corpse one last look before he followed, the borrowed sword feeling heavier than it should against his back.


	8. puff the magic dragon

Title: Puff the Magic Dragon  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #10; just a memory  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, eventually romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: Dragons have ways of melting ice.

* * *

Moira's hair was still damp from her bath and the meal that Varel had arranged to be set out for them upon their return settled comfortably in her belly. She was exhausted, but found that she couldn't sleep. Throwing the sheets off her, she pulled her arms through a thick dressing gown and went towards her bedroom door. As an afterthought, she picked up her pack and brought it with her.

The darkened hallways were still unfamiliar to her, the stone cold on her bare feet. She made her way to the formal receiving room, opening the door and stepping inside. She didn't bother with starting a fire in the hearth, but she did light a few candles to chase away some of the shadows. Sitting on the chaise – she remembered as a child how politely perching on the edge of the lounge had made her back ache whenever she and her mother would visit with the Arlessa – she tucked her feet underneath her and reached inside her satchel. Her fingers blindly found the sharp edges of the drake scales she was looking for and she pulled both out, examining them in the candlelight. One was a dark, rusty red while the other was the deepest blue. Moira turned them towards the light, entranced by the way the candle flame brought out other iridescent colors on each. She let herself become so distracted by them that she didn't hear the door open.

"Collecting dragon scales must be a hobby of yours."

Moira jumped, dropping the scales into her lap. "Nathaniel," she said, clearing her throat and sitting up straighter. "I hadn't heard you come in."

"It seems as if I've begun to share your habit of not being able to sleep after a fight," he said, coming closer and standing beside the high backed chair next to the chaise. After a brief internal debate, he decided to sit. "Is that common for Grey Wardens?"

Moira shrugged. "I don't know. Oghren doesn't seem to have that problem; I passed by his room on the way over here and heard him snoring away." She picked up one of the scales again and looked at it.

"I should leave," Nathaniel said in a rush. "I'm sorry for disturbing you." Truthfully, he was still shaken by the events in the mines. He had tried sleeping, but every time he did, he would dream about killing Moira's double. The nightmares were so vivid that he could feel the weight of the double against him and its blood pouring over his hands, except that when he looked into the double's eyes, it had been Moira staring back at him instead. _Are you happy now?_ she kept asking him, her face oddly peaceful looking. _Will this make up for everything?_

He had bolted awake in a cold sweat, wanting nothing more than to get as far away from his bed as possible. He had seen light coming from underneath the door to his mother's sitting room and had investigated, finding Moira sitting with her back to him, the scales in her hands. Leftover panic from his dream had seized him momentarily, but just like the time on the battlements, he realized that being in her presence was a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.

He guessed that no matter how much he tried to shove it aside, the past had a way of reminding him of what they once had.

"No, please," she said, reaching out and putting a hand on the arm of his chair. "I…I could use the company."

He sat back in his chair, gesturing to the scale she held. "Those go for a sizeable price in the market," he commented. "I'm surprised that you didn't sell them."

She shook her head. "They're not for sale," she said. "Actually, they're not even for me."

"Who are they for, then?"

Moira's lips turned up in a sad smile. "They're for Oren, my nephew. You remember me writing to you about him, don't you?" She turned the scales in the light again, her expression softening at the mention of her nephew. "He was the sweetest boy I ever knew; persistent too. He would often follow Rory around and pester him for shield bashing lessons. Didn't want anything to do with learning rogue skills, he said that he wanted to be a warrior just like his father."

Nathaniel noted how she spoke of Oren in the past tense. It made sense, seeing how even he had heard that the entire Cousland line had all but been destroyed that night. "I remember you called him Fergus' duplicate. You said he would shadow him wherever he went."

She laughed. "Yes, he did. His mother often said that it was a marvel that she wasn't raising a little terror between mine and Fergus' influence. He wanted to have his very own sword so badly; begging Fergus when he left for Ostagar to bring him back one." She could see Oren now, running through the castle with his imaginary sword and shield, leaving make-believe enemies slain in his wake. "He took strongly after Fergus. I'm certain that had he lived, he would have been as insufferable as my brother had been when it came to girls."

"You speak very fondly of him."

Moira put a hand to her chest. "I couldn't have loved him any more if he had been my own child." She remembered how she had felt that first time she had held him, how she had instantly fallen in love with the red and wrinkled baby wailing in her arms, knowing that she would do everything within her power to make him happy and keep him safe.

Moira's heart fell. She had failed her sweet Oren. She had failed them all. Grief had a way of sneaking up on her when she least expected it to, digging its talons into her throat and bringing tears to her eyes. "The last conversation we had," she said, her voice shaky as the scales she held up began to blur in front of her, "was about dragons. Oren was so worried that the castle would come under attack while Fergus and Father were gone, that dragons would burn our home to the ground." She swallowed hard. If she looked up at Nathaniel now, she didn't know what she would say. "I promised him that I'd slay any dragons I came across and bring scales to him."

Nathaniel was silent, watching the way Moira withdrew into herself, her hands going up to hug her elbows. He didn't know what to say to break the uneasy silence that had fallen between them, but Moira did it for him.

"I haven't done a good job keeping up my end of the bargain; the only scale I've brought him belonged to the High Dragon guarding the mountaintop path leading to Andraste's ashes. I thought it would be too dangerous to bring one belonging to the Archdemon to Highever, and Flemeth only transformed herself into a dragon, so technically she didn't count."

Nathaniel leaned forward. "You killed the Witch of the Wilds?"

Moira nodded. "It's a long story."

"One of many, I don't doubt." He glanced at her, noting that she was finally looking his way again. "I never dreamed that the girl I left behind would have such tales to tell."

She tilted her head. "We both know that I'm not that same girl," she said softly, slipping the scales back into her satchel. "There are times that I miss her."

He wanted to tell her that he missed that same girl as well, but kept his thoughts to himself. "I think she may still be around," he said instead. "I saw her when you spoke of your nephew."

Moira stretched her legs out and swung them over the side of the chaise. "Thank you," she told him quietly. She stood up and grabbed the straps of her bag, but stopped when Nathaniel stood and wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

"I don't know what happened that night," he said, staring intently at her. "But for what it's worth, I'm sorry that you had to suffer so much loss." Somehow, he knew that the barrier of hurt feelings and resentment that he hid himself behind would eventually fall, that the icy layer he put around his heart would thaw. He didn't know if it was because of the mines, or the nightmares he had of them, or because of the way that Moira stoically tried not to shed the tears that made her eyes shimmer in the candlelight, but he knew that he couldn't hold up the harsh way that he had been treating her any longer. He let go of her wrist and waited for her to make the next move.

"Thank you," she said again. The air in the sitting room suddenly seemed too confining, the small room becoming even tinier. Talking about Oren had brought back some pleasant memories of the boy, but it had also brought back several that she would rather keep buried. She looked up at Nathaniel's face and her heart pounded against her chest. She would have been able to keep her emotions hidden had he looked at her with the slight disdain that she was currently growing accustomed to seeing from him, but he was staring down at her in sympathy, his eyes soft and reminding her of how he had used to look at her right before he told her that he loved her so long ago. She sat back down on the chaise and stared up at him. "I can't do this, Nathaniel," she confessed.

"Can't do what?" He had a feeling that he already knew what she was going to say, but he needed to hear her say it out loud.

"I can't continue with the way we're going, where we can barely stand to be in the same room with one another. I can't force myself to hate you; I don't _want_ to hate you. It _hurts_ to know that everything we once had is now gone." She clenched her fists in her lap and bit her lip. _Well, you lasted all of three days,_ she thought sarcastically. _So much for the strong front you were supposed to put up against him._

He sat down heavily onto his recently vacated chair. "I…"

She held out a hand. "I know better than to ask the same of you. We've said harsh things to the other since we've met again and I know you think that what I've done to your family is inexcusable, especially when it comes to your father." She sat up straighter. "I won't apologize for my actions, which I'm certain is another thing that you hate about me."

"You killed my father and took over my home. How _else_ do you expect me to feel?" Nathaniel's tone was quiet, but it still felt like a knife in her chest.

She leaned forward. "Do you honestly think that I _wanted_ this position? I don't mind being Warden-Commander, but I fought Alistair as hard as I could to move our post to somewhere else besides Amaranthine. I didn't want to become Arlessa, not…" she looked down, her shoulders slumping. "Not like this. Never like this."

"What do you want me to do? Do you want me to leave?"

She shook her head. "No. This is still your home. I could never ask you to leave. Isn't there any way that we could manage to co-exist without this distance we've set up between us?" She looked up at him with such openness that he could clearly see how much this conversation was costing her, how very badly she wanted things to change. Had he not decided to put away his resentment just then, it would have been easy to say a few words that would have cut through her, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"You know that I've never been good with words," he said slowly, slipping the chain he wore over his head. "But I hope that this…" he paused, his thumb running over the band one last time before he handed the necklace over to her. "I want you to have it."

Moira stared dumbly at the ring sitting in the middle of his palm. "This was my mother's," she whispered, reaching out and taking it with shaking fingers. "She said that she lost it. Father commissioned a new one when they renewed their wedding vows. Why…" The metal was still warm from Nathaniel's skin and she held it close to her heart.

"Why should I have it?" he asked, leaning his elbows onto his knees. "Your mother never lost it; she gave it to me two months before I left for the Free Marches." He gave her a sad smile. "I went to your parents to ask for their permission to marry you. She told me how that ring had been passed down and how pleased she would be to have you wear it."

"But…" It was difficult to breathe. "They never said a word. All those years and they never once told me that they knew about us."

"I asked them not to. I wanted to be the one to tell you once I got back." He stared at the way she carefully held the ring, the chain it was on falling through her fingers. "I didn't want to keep it here while I was away, and I didn't trust having it in my pocket for fear of losing it, so I wore it every day not only to keep it safe, but as a reminder of what waited for me back home." His throat felt naked now without it and he hoped that what he had meant to say had translated well. "You should have it. It's always been yours."

Nathaniel watched as Moira turned the ring over in her palm, her finger tracing the delicate engraving on the inside of the band. Nathaniel had often done the same, the two words written there giving him comfort whenever he had missed Moira. _Love endures,_ he thought, watching as she mouthed the same words. _If only that were true._ He stood, not knowing what to do when she began to cry, tears silently falling down her cheeks. Without saying another word, he left the room, softly closing the door behind him.

Moira wiped at her face with the back of her hand. "You knew," she whispered, sniffling. It made sense now; the way they had both carefully steered any potential suitors away, how they had never pushed anyone onto her, how they had never actively nagged her about marriage.

_Besides being a friend of yours, do you think that you'd ever have romantic feelings for Nathaniel?_

_How can you be certain that Nathaniel will share the same sentiment?_

_How can he not? You're a beautiful, smart, capable woman. Any man would be lucky to have you._

_I think that it would be very easy for me to love Nathaniel._

_Then it would please you for me to speak with Rendon?_

_Yes. It would please me greatly._

"Oh, _Papa_," Moira said, a loud sob escaping her. The sound triggered another, then another and soon Moira found herself crying in a way that she had never allowed herself to do, not when she had fled to Ostagar with Duncan, not when she had been on the road during the Blight, not even when she had been helping Alistair rebuild what had been lost. She cried until her throat went raw and she felt ill, her face blotchy and her eyes swollen. She cried for her family, for Roland, for all those who had been lost.

She cried for herself too, for the girl who had dreamt of marrying the love of her life and living happily ever after. Her heart ached for that girl, as well as the boy who she had loved and how things between them would never be the same again. Exhausted, Moira curled into a tight ball on the chaise and fell into a fitful slumber, her mother's ring clutched tightly in her hands.

Nathaniel leaned heavily against the other side of the closed door and let out a ragged breath. He was torn between flinging the door open and gathering Moira into his arms to offer her any comfort he could give and walking away to give her privacy. In only three days Nathaniel had seen what a strong person Moira was and how she was someone who others clearly looked to for guidance and as a rock to lean on. He'd also seen something brittle in her eyes that reminded him of how even the strongest piece of steel could break if exposed long enough to harsh conditions. It seemed that handing her back the ring had been her breaking point. Knowing how Moira had often put the needs of others before her own in the past, Nathaniel could only guess that she had pushed aside her own personal issues in favor of dealing with the aftermath of the Blight and she was finally allowing herself to mourn those she had lost.

In the end Nathaniel hadn't been able to decide what to do, so he stood there and listened to her cry until he couldn't hear her any longer, feeling about as low as he possibly could for ever thinking that Moira had not gone through the same type of loss or felt the same feelings as he had.

"I can't do this either," he murmured, stepping away from the door and moving down the hallway. He didn't know how they could live under one roof together after everything that had happened between them, but he was determined to try to set things as right as he could.


	9. just like a woman

Title: Just Like A Woman  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #17; orange, color  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, eventually romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: Of all the things becoming an Arlessa entailed, picking out a dress was her least favorite.  
Note: Moira's dress was strongly influenced by Waterhouse's _Ophelia_.

* * *

"You do realize that I haven't known you for very long."

Moira absently nodded, her back to Anders as she stared into the depths of her wardrobe. "I'm aware of that. What was your point?"

"My point," Anders said, sitting up from where he had sprawled atop her bed, "is that you've let a man who's practically a stranger into your bedroom and you haven't batted an eyelash."

"I could kill you in less than three seconds if you tried anything," she told him blandly, turning around with an armload of fabric. "Besides, if you want to get technical, I let Ser Pounce-a-Lot into my bedroom. You merely followed." She smirked at him, carefully arranging the outfits she had picked out onto the area of coverlet Anders wasn't occupying.

"Well, Pounce is quite the charming kitty, isn't he?" From beneath Moira's bed, the aforementioned kitten gave an affirmative meow. "What _are_ you doing anyway? I thought we were supposed to meet with all the stuffy nobles this evening."

Moira sighed. "Yes, but apparently can't meet them fully armed and decked out in armor. It would send out the wrong image."

"Ah. Someone clued you in that looking the part of the gorgeously dangerous and deadly Arlessa wouldn't win you any popularity points?"

"Varel did, yes. He seems to think that my first impression to the people under my care should be of a woman who is approachable and refined. It might make dealing with them in the future a bit easier. I agree with him," she said, tapping her finger against her chin. "I just wish I knew what 'approachable' meant here."

"You might want to stay away from the red dress," Anders told her, sliding off the mattress to stand beside her. "Might come across as too aggressive. The pale blue one you picked out looks far too passive." He walked over to her wardrobe and pulled out a bright orange frock. "This one is nice."

Moira shook her head. "It's also an import. Varel told me how much the people had distrusted anyone from Orlais. Imagine what they would think about me if I wore that."

"Then why do you own it? You lived in the palace for several years; wouldn't the sentiment be stronger there?"

"No, it wasn't. And to answer your question, my friend made me buy it." Moira smiled at the memory of the shopping day she and Leliana had before the bard went off to investigate Andraste's final resting place. The two of them had cooed over shoes for hours and Leliana had all but begged Moira to purchase the dress. _She said it would bring out my eyes,_ Moira thought with a grin. _But if it complimented anyone, it would have looked far better on her._ She smiled again, thinking that Leliana had probably meant to "borrow" the outfit from Moira, but never got the chance to before she left.

Anders dug further into the wardrobe until he was all but crawling inside. "Ah ha! I think I might have found something fitting." He pulled out a silk gown that Moira had forgotten she even owned. "Approachable and quite pretty," he said, holding it up against himself. "What do you think? Is it my color?"

She laughed and took it from him. "Strangely enough, I think it might be."

"It's a shame that I won't be required to dress up for the evening. Fortunately, I think you'd look fantastic in it." He moved over to her dressing stand and unceremoniously flipped the top to her jewelry case open. "And I think I found something that would suit you here as well."

Moira put her hand on the top of the case and gently closed the lid. "Those aren't mine," she said, shaking her head. "They belonged to…" _Nathaniel's mother,_ she thought. "The former Arlessa," she said instead.

"But _you_ are the _new_ Arlessa. They belong to you now and it would help remind these nobles just who you are."

Moira stared at the ornately carved box. "I'll think about it," she said. "Now shoo. I have to change."

"Are you sure that I have to leave? I mean, I've been so helpful and everything."

"I'm certain. Out." She was grinning as she pushed him towards the door. Ser Pounce-a-Lot seemed to take the hint that he was included in the eviction and was already waiting in the hallway, his paw lazily swiping over his ears.

"But there's a great many buttons on that dress. And didn't I see laces in the back that need tightening?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, even as he was being ushered out. "You might need me to watch…er, _supervise_, just to make certain you don't mess anything up!"

Moira laughed, shoving the door closed in the mage's face. "I mean it!" Leaning against the heavy door, she shook her head. Honestly, the reason she didn't mind Anders hanging around was that he reminded her of Alistair. She rolled her eyes, pulling the tunic she was wearing over her head. _A slightly naughty version of Alistair, perhaps, _she mused, stepping into the bath that had been drawn for her. _But he does make being away from home a lot easier._ She didn't know when she had stopped referring to Highever as home, but being away from Denerim, even for as short of an amount of time as she had, was already making her homesick. Hearing sarcastic banter from someone that almost, but not quite, looked like her friend made the transition a little smoother. Quickly bathing, Moira slipped into her undergarments and stood beside her bed. She looked down at the gown she planned on wearing, finally remembering where she had gotten it. Fashion amongst the nobility was starting to lean towards simplicity instead of garishly ornate garb, probably thanks to Alistair's extremely vocal distaste for overly complicated outfits. The trend hadn't quite caught on, seeing that it was still a new idea, but Moira had been presented with the dress from the Royal Seamstress to wear at a banquet. She had missed the event, seeing that there had been a darkspawn sighting that same night that she had gone to investigate, so the gown had gone forgotten in the back of her wardrobe.

It was incredibly stunning, she had to admit. The overdress was a dark forest green with a swooping neckline that was lined with flowering vines embroidered in gold thread. There was a wide stripe of amber colored silk at the hem that held a pattern of embroidered griffons, also in gold. The sleeves to the dress were long and designed to cling to the upper arm before falling loosely at the elbow. More golden vines climbed along the edges of the sleeves and when worn, you could see that the inside lining of the sleeve was the same amber colored material as the hemline. There was another dress that was meant to be worn underneath; Anders hadn't found it, but with minimal searching, Moira found the lighter olive green underdress and slipped it over her head. The long, tightly fitting sleeves buttoned at the wrist and hid several scars along her arms, but the low neckline was bound to show at least the beginnings of several pale white lines that marred her skin. _It can't be helped,_ she thought, careful not to wrinkle the overdress as she pulled it over her head. _There are just some things that these people will simply have to accept about me. One does not take on bad guys without getting scuffed up in the process._

Slipping her feet into a pair of light brown slippers, Moira stood before the full-length mirror at the corner of her bedroom. The dress fit close to her body, hugging the curve of her waist before slightly flaring out at the hip. She stared at her reflection for a while. Except for her uncombed hair and bare face, Moira finally felt like a lady again. While she didn't begrudge the fact that her lifestyle meant she was in armor or men's style clothing most of the time, the one thing she did miss was getting to dress up and act like a female every once and a while. Sitting at her makeup stand, she applied the barest hint of color at her eyes and cheeks and a brighter red stain for her lips. A memory bubbled up to the surface as she stared into the mirror: she and Nathaniel's sister Delilah were sitting together at the same dressing table, giggling together while they prepared for a party. Delilah was leaning forward as closely to the mirror so she could put on her makeup while Moira piled the younger girl's hair up into a sweeping updo, securing her dark curls with a golden comb.

Her eyes went to the large jewelry case in front of her again. Carefully lifting the lid, she looked at the contents inside. Many of the pieces were fashioned out of rubies and diamonds – and Moira ran her fingers over the same golden comb she had been thinking about - but there was a golden circlet sitting almost by itself that caught her eye. It was plain looking compared to the rest of the collection, adorned with a scattering of pearls and amber pieces fashioned to look like flowers. Every so often an emerald leaf curled out of a cluster of flowers, and Moira felt herself drawn to it. She took the piece out of the box and eyed it cautiously, wondering what Arlessa Regina would have thought about her wearing her things. There had been a minor stir when the Arlessa had left Amaranthine in order to live at her family's estate in the Bannorn, but the details had been kept hushed. Moira had never found out the real reason to her disappearance, but she hadn't bought the excuse that Regina had been stricken by her mother's death and had wanted to live in the family home to feel closer to her departed mother. Something else had to have happened and she felt that it had something to do with Thomas, especially since soon after her disappearance Moira had received a letter from Nathaniel asking her to keep an eye on his little brother. Thomas had been tight lipped about everything, deflecting her inquiries with his easy charm and redirecting the conversation back onto herself.

Moira lifted the piece of jewelry and inspected it in the light. She remembered the former Arlessa as someone who had been polite yet distant, refined yet cold, lacking the warmth that her own mother had. Regina had also highly disliked Moira, even if she had never said it in words. Moira had always been too rambunctious, too much of a hellion for her tastes. Moira was certain that if one were to take away the political advantages a marriage between Moira and her son would bring, Regina would have been dead set against welcoming Moira into her family, thinking that she wasn't good enough for either of her sons, especially Nathaniel.

Speaking of, Moira wondered what Nathaniel would think of her wearing something of his mother's. Would he think that she was lording over the fact that she owned everything his family once had? Would he think that she was shoving her new title into his face?

"Or would he even notice?" she wondered out loud, setting the circlet down on the dressing table. She picked up her comb and ran it through her hair. She started to braid her hair around her head like she normally did, but stopped. Leaving her hair plain, she placed the headpiece on, the pearl flowers and emerald leaves looking like a wreath circling her head, the gold standing out in contrast to her dark hair. Sitting up straight, she pulled her shoulders back and held her head high. "You are the Arlessa of Amaranthine," she said, mentally forcing herself to stop worrying about everything that was waiting for her downstairs, especially when it came to Nathaniel. Taking a breath, she stood up from her dressing table, walked out of her room and headed towards the throne room. "You can do this."

* * *

Nathaniel stood in his customary corner, his arms crossed in front of him. They hadn't begun to assemble yet, but he had watched Amaranthine's nobility gather for the better part of the afternoon from his vantage point atop the battlements. He'd kept to the shadows, not wanting to be seen or be made part of whatever gossip that was sure to spread.

"You could have at least worn something nicer," Anders told him, brushing off a bit of cat hair from his sleeve.

"Is there a certain reason why?" he replied, arching his eyebrow.

"Well, for one, we're going to be shown off as the newest Wardens." Velanna had gotten a reprieve; she was still somewhat groggy from her Joining and was given the rest of the evening to recover.

Nathaniel shook his head. "You and the dwarf, perhaps, but I intend on remaining unseen." He could just hear it now: the prodigal son, returned from the Free Marches, only to be conscripted into the Grey Wardens. How fitting, seeing that his entire family was labeled traitors to the crown.

Anders frowned. "Well, Mister Grumpy, you can at least tell our Commander that she looks nice when she comes down. She's not looking forward to this any more than you are."

Nathaniel was going to say something else, but Anders' low whistle stopped him. Turning so he could see the door, his mouth went dry at the sight of Moira standing there. _She looks more than nice,_ he thought, _I've never seen anyone as beautiful in my life._ The fabric contrasted with her pale skin, making what showed gleam like porcelain. He was certain that she hadn't meant to, but the dark green and gold of her dress was an exact match to the Howe family colors. That thought made his chest constrict and he couldn't help but smile warmly.

Moira's step faltered when she caught sight of Nathaniel smiling at her. She was taken by surprise at how such a small expression could dramatically change his entire face. Since they'd met again, she'd seen him sneer or twist his lips into a sarcastic sort of smirk, but she had never seen something that actually reached his eyes like the smile he was giving her now did.

She hadn't known just how much she had missed it, or quite remembered the way that butterflies had always fluttered in her stomach at the sight. "Hello," she said, coming up to both him and Anders.

"Good evening," Nathaniel replied. He grunted when Anders elbowed his side. "You look lovely." The neckline of her dress showed the rounded tops of her shoulders and from up close, he saw how the green complimented her hazel eyes.

She quickly looked away, her eyelashes fanning across her cheeks. "Thank you," she murmured quietly. When she looked back up at him, Nathaniel could have sworn there was some of the old friendliness back in her eyes. He tried to think of something to say, but words failed him.

"I see you found something in the jewelry case," Anders supplied, tilting his head appreciatively.

Moira's hand went up to the side of her head and she looked at Nathaniel. "I…"

"I remember that piece," he said, stepping up to get a closer look. "Mother rarely wore it; she said it made her look washed out."

"I think it's nice," Moira told him.

Nathaniel shrugged. "Mother always liked to deck herself out with rubies." He couldn't do anything but stare as his fingers, seemingly of their own accord, reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Moira's ear. "You wear it far better than she ever did."

Anders watched the two of them stare at the other before clearing his throat. "And when the mage starts feeling like he's the third wheel, it's his cue to leave. I'll just be over there, minding my own business."

Nathaniel put his hand in his pocket and brought something out. "I've been meaning to give you this," he said, holding out a large signet ring. "Varel said that the king had sent it back to Amaranthine for safekeeping until you were available to take up your duties here. You should make your title official."

Moira shook her head. "I can't take that from you." The last time she had seen it, the ring had been sitting in a pool of cooling blood, the former owner's hand still twitching. Her stomach curled at the thought of even being anywhere near something that Rendon Howe had once worn.

"I insist." He reached down and took a hold of her right hand. "It's a bit big, but I'm certain you can get it resized." He slid the ring onto her index finger, and as expected, it shifted around, the weighty portion bearing his family's crest sliding to the underside of her finger. "And I'm sure that you'll want to replace the crest with your own, or perhaps something signifying the Wardens." He had been tempted to try on the signet ring himself, if only to say that he had at least one opportunity to do so, but he had refrained. Becoming Arl of Amaranthine wasn't part of his life any longer; the ring belonged to those in power.

It was odd; he thought that he would feel bitter about it, but he didn't.

Moira took the ring off and pressed it back into his palm. "I can't take this from you," she repeated, folding his fingers over the ring. She looked at him, suddenly realizing that they were so close to the other that the hem of her gown covered the tips of his boots. "With tonight and…" she fought the urge to rest her head against his chest. "I've taken so much from you already. Please, let me give something back."

"Moira…" His hands itched to touch her, to cover her exposed shoulders and see if her skin felt just as soft as he remembered it being. "You've taken nothing that hadn't already been lost." He gestured towards the circlet again. "And as I said earlier, you wear it well."

She swallowed hard, trying to get her emotions in some sort of order at the way he said her name. One of these days, she and Nathaniel were going to have to have a long talk to sort everything out, but that night wasn't going to be that time. "Let's just get through this all in one piece," she told him, walking towards the dais. "I don't even know what to expect." He put her off balance once again when he offered her his elbow. Heart in her throat, she twined her arm through his, looking up at him when he put his free hand over hers. It was as if time had decided to move backwards; Moira remembered several other times where Nathaniel had escorted her in such a manner. It was something that she had never expected him to do, especially after the careful distance they had put between themselves. It had been a week since he had returned her mother's wedding ring to her and since then, Moira had noticed that most of the harshness in his behavior had been erased. They might not be on comfortable speaking terms yet, but at least they could hold a civil, if not stilted, conversation now.

"You're going to do fine," he assured her, stepping away once they were standing by the large chair at the very front of the room. "As for what to expect, I suspect that some of the younger nobles will be just like their parents. They're going to bow and scrape to put on a good show, but they'll be testing to see just how far they can get with their new ruler. Be wary of Bann Esmerelle. She'll try to charm you into doing things for the city while forgoing every other part of the land, which is what she had attempted to do with my father. She has a subtle manner about her, but I think that she's a snake in the grass."

"Thank you. I appreciate the information."

Nathaniel looked down at her and gave her a small, lopsided smile. "And I wasn't saying it just to appease Anders earlier; you do look lovely." With that, he stepped into the shadows behind the chair, instantly melting into the darkness. She tried to focus on him, but it was clear that he had already moved somewhere else.

"He's right," Varel said, standing beside her. "You do look lovely."

"Is this approachable enough?" she asked, steeling herself as Varel motioned for the large doors to open.

"Quite. And excellent color choice, I might say. The nobles will think of the previous Arl, which makes your transition a bit easier."

Moira stood up straighter. "I hadn't thought of it," she said absently. _No wonder Nathaniel seemed friendlier._ She stared at the sleeve of her dress, thinking that perhaps around this same time, she might have worn the same colors under other circumstances. She glanced down at her left hand, thinking that there might have been a gold band added on, had things been different.

_There's no use lingering over what might have been,_ she admonished herself. _Just focus on the present._ "Any last minute pieces of advice?" she asked instead.

"Try not to show too much favor to any one noble," he said. "Though I'm sure you already know that from your time in court. Any time you want me to clear the room, just give me the signal," Varel muttered next to her.

"Is now too soon?" she asked, schooling her face into a practiced smile, just as her mother had taught her. If she were to look at herself, she knew that she was presenting the image of the perfect hostess.

"Just a bit. Word of warning: you might have to put up with some minor disputes. I'm certain that everyone won't be capable of playing nice once they're all gathered together in the same room."

"Thank you." _Maker. Give me a room full of darkspawn with only a butter knife to defend myself with over this,_ she thought. Smiling warmly, she let her voice ring out through the hall. "Greetings. Welcome to Vigil's Keep."

* * *

"Someone's going to have to keep an eye on her," Anders said, leaning against the wall. "That Ser Tamra is getting awful chatty."

"You noticed that as well?" Nathaniel said, leaning against the column opposite of Anders. "There's something that doesn't seem right."

"Well, it's a good thing that you're on board. For a moment there, I thought you'd be off sulking in the corner for the remainder of the evening."

"I do not sulk."

"Brood, then."

"I do not brood, either."

Anders rolled his eyes. "Fine, believe what you want to. What I'm mostly getting at is that I'm glad you aren't looking at our Commander as if you wish to kill her any longer." He leaned forward. "You _don't_ want to kill her any longer, right?"

Nathaniel scoffed. "I never truly wanted to."

"Good. I'd sure hate to zap you with a well placed bolt of lightning otherwise. Care to share what changed your heart?"

Nathaniel looked over his shoulder, watching as Moira ended her conversation with Ser Tamra and began one with Lord Eddelbrek. For all her reluctance, she seemed to be in her element, transitioning from one topic to the next with ease. From his hiding places, Nathaniel had overheard many other conversations. The general consensus was that the nobles approved of their new Arlessa. _There was also whispers about Father and how he had let Amaranthine go in a downwards slide during the last years of his rule. Could this be true?_ He didn't want to think about his father at the moment, preferring to spend his time thinking about Moira. "No, I do not," he told Anders. Honestly, he couldn't answer that question, even to himself. He felt conflicted; on one hand, he believed that he should still resent Moira, that his father's honor demanded it. On the other hand, his feelings and memories of her had said to give her a chance, that perhaps he _didn't_ have the entire story. "Keep your eyes and ears peeled," he said instead, intending on moving unnoticed to another corner of the room.

"Aye aye, Captain Broody." Anders turned his head and frowned, finding himself talking to thin air. "Damn, that man moves fast."


	10. let it all go

Title: Let It All Go  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #13; euthanasia  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, eventually romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: Many things come to light upon hearing that his sister is alive.

* * *

"I've been meaning to give these to you."

Nathaniel looked down at the bundle of papers Moira held in her hands. "What are they?"

"I found these when we were searching the cellars," she explained. "I forgot about them, but I finally had a chance to look closer at them today. They're letters from your sister."

"Delilah? What did they say?" He took them from her, already unfolding the first one.

"I don't know. As soon as I recognized who the handwriting belonged to, I stopped reading." She and Delilah had been pen-acquaintances for years. Once she had seen the delicate way that the D looped in the word _Dear_, she'd known who the author was. "I thought that you might want to have them."

"Thank you," Nathaniel said, tucking the letters away in his bag. "I shall read them thoroughly once we get back from today's errands."

"I certainly hope we can find Kristoff. Varel suggested looking in any inns."

Nathaniel rubbed his chin with his hand. "I'd start at the Crown and Lion. It's one of the more popular inns in Amaranthine. There are one or two others, but they're tiny and out of the way; not something that someone unfamiliar with the area would initially pick."

"You taking anyone else with you?" Oghren asked, looking up from the whetstone he was sharpening his axe with.

Anders put up his hand. "Oooh! Pick me! Pick me!" Ser Pounce-a-Lot mewed from his perch on Anders' shoulder, upset that his nap had been interrupted.

Moira laughed. "I don't think this investigation warrants more than two people," she said. "Think of this as a day off."

"I can live with that," Oghren said, testing the edge of his axe with his thumb.

"It would give us a chance to get better acquainted," Anders reasoned, sidling up to Velanna.

She arched her eyebrow at him. "Come any closer and you'll regret it." There was a crackle of electricity around her and the throne room was filled with the scent of ozone, like the air before a storm.

Anders backed up a step, his hands out in front of him, even as he winked at Velanna. "Pretty _and _deadly. I don't know if I should be cautious or intrigued."

Moira grinned and shook her head. "Just stay out of trouble. We'll be back before nightfall." She and Nathaniel were walking into the courtyard when Moira remembered that she had a few ore samples to give to Herren. She also wanted to report a sizeable granite deposit in the Wending Wood to Voldrik, hoping that it would add to the Keep repairs he had been contracted to do. Nathaniel hung back while she concluded her business, but someone nearby caught his eye.

"Samuel? Groundskeeper Samuel? Is that you?" He walked towards the older elf, not believing his eyes. "I'm so glad that you've stayed on," he said, holding out his hand.

"Nathaniel? Why it _is_ little Nate! I'd know that face anywhere. It's so good to see you back, my lord." Samuel took hold of Nathaniel's hand in both of his.

"Please, just Nathaniel will do. I no longer have any rank."

Samuel smiled as he shook his head. "Old habits will die hard."

"Have you heard anything of Thomas and Delilah?" he asked. "I've been away for so long that I haven't been able to find any definite information." He had been putting off thinking about his brother and sister, focusing his anger on the fact that his family name had been disgraced instead. It had been the safer route at the time, but now he knew that he had to know exactly what his younger siblings' fates were.

"Lord Thomas died in the war," Samuel said. "They found him in Denerim."

Nathaniel's heart plummeted. "I was afraid of that. Do you know how?" In his heart of hearts, Nathaniel knew that his brother and sister had very little chance of surviving, especially after the way that people spat on the Howe name. If darkspawn hadn't gotten them, then angry mobs might have.

Samuel shrugged. "No, but I do know that our new Arlessa personally saw to his burial. She called him a good and honorable man in her eulogy for him."

"Moira knew?" He tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Moira had known about Thomas' death but had failed to inform him. _It's not like you would have given her any opening,_ he argued. _What did you expect her to do, say "Remember your brother? He's dead, Nate."_

"But Lady Delilah…she's still alive."

Nathaniel's eyes widened. "Alive? Where?"

Samuel shrugged. "The last we heard of her, she had married a storekeeper in Amaranthine." He shook his head in pity. "Poor girl. She deserves better."

"Thank you for your information," Nathaniel said, grasping the elf's hand again. "You don't know how much this news puts my mind at ease."

"Is everything all right?" Moira asked once Nathaniel came back to her. His expression was unreadable; he looked to be sad about something while being elated at another.

"Everything _is_ all right," he replied, his smile going from one ear to the other. "I just found out that my sister is alive."

Moira put a hand on his arm. "That's wonderful news! Where is she?"

"She supposedly married a shop owner in Amaranthine."

_I have a sister in Denerim,_ Moira couldn't help but think of Alistair and Goldanna. _Do you think that we could visit her? Do you think she'll like me? Maker, I'm nervous._ She shook herself out of the sudden flashback in time to see Nathaniel looking at her expectantly. "I'm sorry, what did you ask?" she inquired.

"I said, would you think it would be possible to make a side trip and see where she is? I mean, we're going to be in Amaranthine already."

"Of _course_ we can." The two of them headed past the main gates and started down the path towards the city. Nathaniel took the lead, breaking his habit of trailing several steps behind to act as a rear guard. Moira didn't mind; if their roles had been reversed, she was certain that she would have already been running down the road as fast as her legs could carry her. Nathaniel was more restrained, but as it was, Moira had to lengthen her stride to keep up with him.

They were halfway to the city when Nathaniel slowed his pace. "Why didn't you tell me that my brother was dead?"

The question threw Moira for a loop. "I thought that you knew," she told him, biting her lip. "If I had known that you were unaware, I would have said something."

"Samuel said that he died in Denerim."

"He did."

"He also said that you gave Thomas' eulogy."

"Yes, that's true. He's buried in your family mausoleum, if you ever want to pay your respects." She looked at him. "Your father is there as well."

Nathaniel stopped walking. "Why?" He turned towards her. "If my father did what you said he did, then why show him such mercy?"

She took a breath. "Because Rendon could have put my father's head on a pike and left his body to rot for the crows when he attacked my home, but he didn't. No matter what he did to us, he deserved the same courtesy in death." Fergus had been against her wishes, wanting to burn Howe's body and leave the charred skeleton by the roadside, but Moira had argued against it. Alistair had taken her side and there had been a small, private funeral for both deceased Howes consisting of Moira, Alistair, Varel and Garavel. Rendon's had been short; no words had been said over him besides the basic funeral rites, but Moira had spoken kindly of Thomas.

Nathaniel bowed his head. "Do you know how Thomas died?"

She nodded. "He died saving my life. He put himself in front of an Emissary's blast that would have hit me instead." She clasped her hands, wanting to do something to comfort Nathaniel. "We tried to save him, but his injuries were too severe." She could remember the heat from the burning buildings, the way that sweat had made tracks across Thomas' soot stained face as he stared up at her.

"I want to thank you, for saying something about Thomas. For calling him a good man."

"I knew Thomas since he was born. He _was_ a good man." She reached out and lightly touched his arm. "He had a good role model."

"And who would that be?"

"You." She looked up at him and saw that some of the pain in his eyes had disappeared. She didn't have anything else left to say, so she turned and continued on the road towards town. Nathaniel stood and stared at her back there in the middle of the road for a little while before joining her.

* * *

"That's her," Nathaniel said quietly when they reached the market district. He gestured at the woman who had her back to them. "We passed that shop at least three times; how did I miss her?"

"Perhaps she's been away and has only just come back," Moira suggested. "Or maybe she was inside. There aren't any windows facing this side of the street." The last time they had been down this alley, they had been fighting smugglers. No one in their right mind would have stepped outside in the middle of a knife fight.

"She looks so thin." Nathaniel twisted the gold ring on his left index finger in a rare display of nerves. "Will she even recognize me, after so long?"

Moira put a hand on his shoulder as a show of support. "Why don't you find out?"

His eyebrow quirked. "You aren't coming along?"

She shook her head. "No." He was going to ask her something, but she interrupted him. "This is something personal for you. My being there might put a damper on your reunion." She didn't know what Delilah thought of her, and she was not looking forward to two Howes joining forces in blaming her for their family's misfortune. "Please, take your time. I'll be waiting in the Crown and Lion." She turned to leave, but stopped when she felt a tug on her hand.

"Thank you," he told her, his face sincere. "Just being able to see her again, to know that she's alive, means so much to me."

She gave his fingers a brief squeeze before stepping away. "Good luck then." She watched as he walked away, his hands slicking his hair back away from his face. She continued to watch as he called out to his sister, who turned and recognized him instantly. It was only when she saw the two siblings embrace that she left, letting them have their privacy.

Moira decided to spend the time alone in Amaranthine wandering the streets. Luckily no one knew her on sight besides the city guards. She had been pleased with the discovery; it had been far too long since she had traveled unnoticed. The layout of the city was sprawling, but not so much different from Highever. Dressmaker shops were next to the shoe shops, vendors selling protective gear were flanked by weapon stands. There were bakeries, eateries, and other small shops along the way. The Chantry took up a large portion of the eastern side and it seemed as if there were tons of tall buildings acting as housing for the city's population. It wasn't as bustling as she remembered it being several years ago, but she figured that had to do with the effects of the Blight.

Stealth allowed her to eavesdrop on several conversations, giving her an entry point to butt in and ask everyone she met about Kristoff's whereabouts. For good measure, she even inquired about the Dark Wolf, but unfortunately got nowhere on that end. It was upsetting, because she had hoped to get the nasty little detail of someone trying to assassinate her cleaned up as quickly as possible. She hadn't wanted to believe Ser Tamara when she had warned her several days ago, but the fact that the woman had precious little to gain from supplying Moira with false information, not to mention Moira's own gut instincts, had led her to believe the accusations. Moira had spoken with Varel after the nobles had left, but she hadn't liked his suggestion of having several of their guards trail after each of their guests to see what they might be planning. Moira had always liked doing her own dirty work, even if it meant that she would more than likely be spending a great amount of money gathering resources.

Entering the Crown and Lion, the innkeeper confirmed that the missing Warden had indeed been staying there and that his room was paid up until the end of the month. Moira had easily charmed the spare room key from his hands by saying she was a friend of Kristoff's and made her way upstairs. The room was tidy, but looked as if no one had been there for quite some time. Three chests were sitting in plain view. Moira pulled her well used set of lock picks out of the pouch hanging from her belt, opening each chest and sifting through the contents, hoping to find a hint about where Kristoff might have gone. The only things she found were some of the Warden's mementos, his journal, and a letter from a woman named Aura, whom from the content of the letter, Moira surmised was Kristoff's wife. She put all three of her findings into her pack and was about to head back down to the common room when something tacked onto the wall drew her attention.

"Where were you going?" she wondered, staring at the map of Ferelden. There were areas marked out on the map and notes written in Orlesian along the sides, but what really got her attention was the bold circle around an area of Amaranthine called the Blackmarsh. Tapping her finger against the circled area, she pulled the map down, rolling it up and sticking it in her pack as well.

"Did you find everything you were looking for?" the innkeeper asked when Moira handed him back the spare key.

"I think so," she replied, pulling out several silver pieces from her money bag. "Are you the man to go to for a drink?"

He pocketed the money. "Aye, that I am." He went over to a battered looking bar and took down a cup from a rack. "Will it be ale or wine or something stronger?"

"Wine, please." She had a strong aversion to ale after the night Oghren had talked her, Zevran and Alistair into a drinking contest. As usual, Oghren had won, and the only thing Moira had gotten out of the contest was a quick buzz and a foul taste in her mouth. She had quit the contest after only one tankard.

"So, are you traveling through or staying for a while, Stranger?"

Moira thanked him and took a sip, happy to find that the house wine was a rather pleasant tasting merlot – the distinctive tart flavor of cherries and plums hit her tongue and left a slight trace of black pepper in the background. "I'm thinking of staying for a while," she replied.

"By the looks of the weapons on your back, I'd say you're quite the scrapper. Might want to try your luck getting in with the guards stationed at Vigil's Keep. I hear their numbers are pretty scarce."

Moira smiled into her cup. "I might try that. Thank you for the tip."

"The new Arlessa's supposed to be an all right sort. Hero of Ferelden and all." The innkeeper wiped down the bar and leaned forward. "Killed the Archdemon with her bare hands, she did."

She tilted her head. "You don't say."

"I _do_ say. I also say that if she wants to get in good with the people here, then she might want to start hiring some of the young lads and lasses to get that rusty pile of a Keep running properly, like it used to. Would go a long way to getting everyone to like her if she used local help instead of bringing in others."

"What else do you know about her?" she asked, curious to see what the local gossips had to say about her already. Her father had taught her long ago that if one really wanted to put their finger on the pulse of a kingdom, teyrnir, or arling, all one had to do was ask the common folk what they thought of their respective ruler. Bryce Cousland had been well respected and loved by the people of Highever, not because he had ruled with an iron fist, but because he had taken the time to see that everyone under his care fared well. She and her brother had been taught from an early age how to properly run a teyrnir and even though she had fought Alistair when he had given her the arling to rule, she was determined to make her father proud.

"Not much to say, really. She's still new and all, but her brother's the Teyrn of Highever. Good sort of fellow, Teyrn Cousland is. He takes good care of his people much like his father did. I just hope his sister is the same."

Moira thanked the innkeeper for her drink again and walked over to a table near the corner. Keeping her back to the wall and digging Kristoff's journal out of her bag, she settled in to wait until Nathaniel came to collect her. She had been telling the truth when she told him that the meeting between him and his sister should be a private one. She thought back to the moment she had laid eyes on Fergus for the first time since the Blight had ended. They had been in the Landsmeet chamber, and she would have preferred that she hadn't have had an audience full of strangers watching as she launched herself at her older sibling, both of them crying and laughing all at once and talking a mile a minute to make up for lost time. In the end, she hadn't really cared that anyone had witnessed their reunion, but she still would have liked a more private experience. Slouching in her chair, she tried to make out the writing in the journal. While she might be able to understand Antivan as well as a native thanks to her sister-in-law's tutoring, her grasp on Orlesian was minimal at best. She only knew a few phrases that would have gotten her through a conversation with polite company, and she could barely make out every other word she read in Kristoff's notes. It was frustrating, but at least attempting to translate portions of the journal gave her something to do with her time.

She didn't have to wait long. Nathaniel stepped through the inn's door a little over an hour and a half later, looking pleased with himself. "How did it go?" she asked, judging by his smile that the reunion had gone well.

"She wants me to come back, to meet her husband," he said, sounding overwhelmed. "She's due in the spring."

"That's fantastic news! You're going to be an uncle."

"It's a little much to take in all at once," he admitted, watching as Moira put a book back into her satchel. "We had many things to discuss."

"Are you certain that you're ready to go?" she asked. "We can always return to the Keep later on."

"No, you told everyone that we'd be back before nightfall. I hadn't realized just how late it was getting." He held the inn's door open for her. "Delilah would love to see you again, Moira. She misses you dearly."

"I…" Moira put a hand to her throat. "I'd like that. Maybe I'll go with you when you see her again."

"I'd like that as well." Clearing his throat, he changed the subject. "Did you happen to find anything about Kristoff?"

"I did. I have everything in my pack; we'll share it with the rest once we get back to the Keep."

"And anything about this Dark Wolf we're supposed to get to spy for you?" Nathaniel didn't like that option, thinking that it would have been better to have someone else less…_shadier_ find information for them about the people conspiring to kill Moira. He also found that idea quite unsettling, even though Moira blew it off as if it weren't an important matter.

"Unfortunately, no, I didn't. We're going to have to come back later to see if this person is actually here in Amaranthine at all."

"Perhaps we could show up with Oghren next time," Nathaniel said. "Despite him being the smelliest person I've ever had the pleasure of coming across, he does tend to have an air of intimidation about him. Maybe his presence would get better results."

Moira laughed. "I think you might be right."

The remainder of the trip back to the Keep was spent in a slightly tense silence. Moira stole glances at Nathaniel's profile as they walked, noting how his jaw tightened and his hands flexed into fists. For all the positive things it seemed he got out of his meeting with his sister, he was exceptionally deep in thought. Even as they rejoined the rest of their party and Moira shared what she learned, she couldn't help but notice how he kept to the corner of the room, saying nothing and looking distracted the entire time. Plans were made to visit the Blackmarsh the next day, Anders requesting that they first stop back in Amaranthine to upgrade the magical equipment he used that none of the merchants at the Keep kept in supply.

"Is everything all right?" Moira asked, once everything was settled and everyone else left the throne room for the evening. "You've been awfully quiet ever since we left the city."

Nathaniel nodded. "Yes." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to stem a headache. "No. Can we speak in private?"

"Of course." She gestured towards the door leading to her study, but he shook his head. Without thinking, he held onto her hand and guided her down one of the side halls. She was beginning to wonder where he was taking her when they stopped at an informal parlor, the large windows overlooking the Amaranthine Ocean out in the distance. Moira had a memory of the two of them sneaking away to this very room from some party or another his parents had hosted once. No one had thought to look for them and they had spent the evening curled up together on the window seat sharing tentative kisses and whispered promises of young love.

"I owe you an apology," Nathaniel started, looking down and twisting the ring on his finger again.

She figured it must have had something to do with something Delilah had told him. "No you don't. Its fine," she said, clasping her hands behind her back.

He frowned at her. "Yes, I do. And _no_, it is _not_ fine. Delilah…she said that Father," he swallowed hard and tried to collect his thoughts. "She said that Father deserved to die, that everything that had happened to our family was because of his actions. She told me everything; how his political ambition had blinded him, how his need for power had led him to do terrible things to people." He stared at her and she couldn't tear her eyes away from his. "How it had led him to betray those that had trusted him the most."

"Nathaniel…" She held her hands out to him, wanting to do something for him, especially when she saw how hard of a time he had dealing with the information his sister had given him.

He stepped out of her reach. "No. I…" He raked his hands through his hair and ran them down his face. "Instead of looking deeper, I was petty and acted like a child would when someone told them that the hero they had worshiped for years was actually a criminal. I thought he had his reasons for doing the things he did; we were at war, for Andraste's sake. How could he have changed so much over the years?"

"This wasn't your fault," Moira told him.

"But what if it is?" he asked. "I didn't have much of a choice, but what if I had never left in the first place? I could have talked some sense into Father. I could have…" Nathaniel held onto her upper arms, his hands squeezing almost to the point of pain. "I could have stopped him from murdering your family. And how could I have ever thought your father would have betrayed his country? Bryce was a man I looked up to and admired. To instantly believe the worst…Can you ever forgive me, Moira?"

Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her. He let out a shaky breath, his arms going about her waist, holding tight as if he feared she'd slip through his fingers. "There's nothing to forgive," she breathed, her lips near his ear.

"I've treated you with such contempt. I feel like a fool." He turned his head so that his nose brushed against hers. "Why haven't you screamed for vengeance? How could you be so forgiving of his crimes?"

Moira stepped away and walked towards the window. The last of the day's sun made the sky outside a soft lavender color that was quickly bleeding to the dark blues of twilight. "I've already gone that way, Nathaniel," she said quietly, her arms wrapping around herself. "It wasn't a pleasant choice. Anger and a need for revenge were what kept me going most days, as did the thought that once I brought your father to justice, I'd feel some sort of peace, that I could finally let my parents' memory rest."

He watched her from where he stood. Her body language told him that she didn't want anyone close at the moment. "I take it that you didn't."

She shook her head. "No, I didn't." Her mind went back to the dungeons. She could remember that while fighting Rendon, the scent of burning wood had assaulted her nose while the shouts and cries of her dying guards rang in her ears. Her parent's parting words had echoed in her head, even as her blades clashed with Howe's axe. She had seen the expression on Ser Gilmore's face that last time in her mind's eye; the grim set of his mouth telling her that he knew he would die long before the sun came up. With the arl's final breath, all the voices suddenly went silent, leaving her trying to catch her breath while she clutched at her side, her blood dripping from between her fingers. "Instead of feeling peace, I felt empty. There was no sense that I had avenged anyone at all." Her father had asked her before she left him to die in the larder to not let Rendon destroy her spirit, to not let a need for vengeance poison her. It was only when she was sitting in Fort Drakon with Rendon's blood staining her hands that she realized just how close she had been to losing herself to her rage.

"How," Nathaniel closed his eyes tightly, his hands fisting at his side. He wasn't sure he wanted to ask the next question, but he had to know. "How did he die? Was it painful, or did you finish him quickly?"

Moira turned to him. "I won't lie to you. He didn't die quickly, but I didn't draw his death out either. I've never had the stomach to cause unnecessary suffering, and your father was no exception." At her side, her right hand curled around an imaginary sword hilt as she remembered the way her family's blade had gone through the front of Rendon's armor and out his back, how she had to yank at the sword to slide it out of his body. "He lived long enough to curse at me one last time."

"He caused so much hardship," Nathaniel said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "And now it seems as if the last of the Howes are better off without him. It's difficult to wrap my mind around it all."

She leaned against him, her forehead resting against his shoulder. "Take your time." Her hands splayed over his back and her breath hitched at the familiar feel of his arms around her again. Now that everything was out in the open, she thought that the healing process could truly begin, not just for her, but for him as well.

"There had been a good side to him once," Nathaniel murmured, his cheek against her hair. "It still doesn't excuse his actions, but I guess that was the side of him that I had looked up to, the side that I thought he still possessed. How could I have read everything so wrong? I feel horrible for the way that I've been treating you. And here you've been nothing but gracious and," he slid his hands down until he was able to grasp hers. "And something of a friend to me, even while I was acting like an ass. Or am I reading _that_ wrong as well?"

She stared down at their joined hands. "No, I would like to… I _do_ consider you a friend." She looked up at him and gave his hands a reassuring squeeze. "And I would hope that you could consider me one as well."

He let out a breath. "Good." Then he looked at her in a way that made her stomach flip and her heart beat faster. "Good," he said softly, his thumbs running over her knuckles. "So, where does this leave us now?"

She shrugged. "Wherever we wish to be." Secretly, she held onto the hope that he would want to rekindle their past relationship, but realistically she knew that it was a poor time to do so.

He looked at her and felt the tiniest flare of hope. "It's been a long time since I last wrote you," he said, leading her towards the window seat.

"Two years," she agreed, sitting down with him.

"That's an awful lot of ground to go over, but tell me, what have you been doing?"

She gave a watery laugh and blinked several times to clear her blurred vision. _Here_ was the Nathaniel she had known. _Maker, how I've missed you, Nate_. Leaning against his side, she spread her hands. "Well, I guess I should probably start at Ostagar. As a friend once put it, the one good thing about the Blight was how it brought people together." She dove into her tale and Nathaniel listened raptly, draping his arm over her shoulder, his fingers playing with the strands of her hair. _Here_ was the Moira he had left behind. A feeling of contentedness washed over him and he couldn't help but think that of all the things that his father had stolen - from the Couslands as well as his own family - Nathaniel was grateful that he had been able to regain this.

He gave Moira's shoulder a squeeze. Out of all the treasures in Vigil's Keep, this moment and what it represented was the most priceless of them all.


	11. oo de lally

Title: Oo-De-Lally  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #8; fairytales  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, eventually romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: Even from the Free Marches, Nathaniel had heard tales of the Dark Wolf. He just hadn't really expected to come face to face with the legend.

* * *

"Is this really necessary?" Oghren asked, crossing his arms in front of him.

Moira shrugged. "We've finally gotten a lead on this Dark Wolf. It would be a shame to waste the opportunity."

"Just sayin', this ain't your usual way to handle things like this."

Anders experimentally swung his new staff, admiring the way it fit in his hands. "How do you usually handle things like this, Commander?"

Moira's smile was all teeth. "By beating assailants senseless first and asking questions later."

Oghren guffawed. "That sums it up. How many assassins have you gotten that way?"

"I lost track after the fifth attempt." She bit her bottom lip. The last two hadn't even been directed at her. Worriedly, she wondered how Alistair was doing. _I know he can handle himself just fine, but still. He really should have taken Zev up on his offer to become the Royal Assassin/Bodyguard._

"I still can't see how you two can be so nonchalant about the situation," Nathaniel said, frowning from his spot in the back of their group. "This is serious."

Moira looked at him from over her shoulder. "I _know_ it is. I don't like walking around with a Mark of Death on me just as much as you do, but there's nothing that can be done about it. Frankly, I'd rather actively look for my would-be killers than simply wait around for them to strike." She wanted to hang back, to smooth away the crease that had appeared between Nathaniel's eyebrows in response to his frown. She didn't though, mostly because she didn't want to start any rumors in between their little party. As it was, Anders had given both of them a strange look when they had met in the dining room for breakfast that morning, probably wondering where the stony silence that usually sprung up between the two of them had gone. His eyebrows had actually risen when he had heard Nathaniel greet her pleasantly, but the mage hadn't said anything.

"But buying information? Isn't there another way?"

Moira sighed. "It isn't like I can intimidate it out of him." She stopped in her tracks when she spotted a lone figure standing in the dappled shade up ahead. "That must be our Ser Wolf."

Oghren elbowed her. "You're gonna put up a big scene, aren't you?" he asked.

She sniffed. "I don't know."

"Aww, come on. It's just a name."

She crossed her arms. "One that I worked hard to earn. You weren't there."

He rolled his eyes. "That's because I've got no use for all the sneaking around that you, the elf and the bard do. Give me a good axe to clear my way any day."

"What are they talking about?" Anders asked, leaning towards Nathaniel.

"I have no idea." He listened as Moira and Oghren continued to talk as they approached the man. He couldn't catch much from where he was standing, but he did hear the phrases _blasted rogues and their stupid sense of pride _and _just don't go killin' the guy on account of a little mistaken identity_ thrown about by the dwarf.

"Sometimes," Anders told him, "I kind of wish that I had been there for the Blight, especially when those two go into their little private in-joke moments."

Nathaniel watched them, noting the ease the two had between them. He'd be lying if he said that he wasn't a little bit envious. "So do I," he said quietly.

"Ser Wolf, I presume," Moira said, addressing the man. "You're a hard person to find."

"I've been watching you," the man said, his voice echoing out from behind his helmet. "It seems that you need my help."

Moira crossed her arms over her chest. "So you have heard of my little predicament. How do I know that I can trust you?"

"It wouldn't do if the Hero of Ferelden met her demise when there was something that I could do about it."

Moira stood up straighter, in full Commander mode. "And how do I know that you'll be capable of doing this job? All I wish of you to do is listen in and unmask the people conspiring against me. Stealth will be of utmost importance."

The man threw his shoulders back. "I am the Dark Wolf," he growled. "Surely you've heard the stories told about me."

"Even in the Free Marches, word of the Dark Wolf's deeds have been heard," Nathaniel piped up, standing off to Moira's side. "They say you robbed Ser Nancine of her sword and gave the money you received from selling it to the poor in Denerim's Alienage."

"_Liberated,_" Moira muttered under her breath. "Rob is such a naughty word."

"I did. I also took on a hundred of Teyrn Loghain's men to free money he had unlawfully taken from the poor people of Denerim." He shifted on his feet. "I am the man for your job."

Moira's eyes narrowed. "How much will your information cost me?"

"Fifty sovereigns."

"That's highway robbery!" Anders squawked, indignant. "Surely you're not going to stand for that!"

"Done," Moira said, unhooking her money pouch from her belt. She tossed it at the man, who caught it one handed. "I just hope I'm not sending some foolish man to his death. You are no Dark Wolf."

"I beg your pardon," he said, sounding shaken.

Oghren sighed and rolled his eyes. "Here we go."

"If you _are_ the Dark Wolf, then you'll be able to tell me where Andraste's tears were hidden."

"Everyone knows the answer to that. They were in a storage room heavily guarded by Bann Franderel's personal guard."

Moira shook her head. "No they weren't. That was a trap. The _real_ Dark Wolf would have known that the Tears were hidden in an unguarded treasure room in the Bann's cellar. The door to the chamber had been disguised as a wine rack."

The man took a step back. "How would you…" Moira's words sunk in and the man nearly dropped his money. "My _lady_," he breathed.

"Wait a minute," Nathaniel said, glancing sideways at her, an incredulous look on his face. "_You're_ the Dark Wolf?"

"You'd better believe it," Oghren said. "Otherwise she'll throw a fit and do something to prove it to you."

"I can't take your money," the man said, pushing the bag back into Moira's hands. "I'll do this for you for free."

Moira shook her head. "You have a family, do you not?"

"Three sisters."

"Then take this money with my blessing." She leaned forward conspiratorially and winked. "It belonged to some nobleman who is probably cursing their ill fortune at the moment."

"Maker watch over you," the man said, hugging the pouch close to his chest. "I might not be as good as you, but I can hold my own in the stealth department. Give me a few days to listen in and I'll report back with what I find."

"Just be careful, that's all I ask. Remember, I only want information; do not try and take these people on by yourself."

"I'll be as silent as a shadow, I swear it."

Moira watched the man leave, impressed by the way he blended in with the shadows, vanishing out of sight. "So," Anders said, leaning against his staff. "Did you _really_ face down a hundred of Loghain's men in order to take back money that had been stolen from Denerim's poor?"

"It was more like ten guards, and they hadn't been Loghain's." She frowned, linking her hands behind her back as they traced their steps back towards Amaranthine's gates. "They had worn the Howe crest." She could almost hear the rallying song Leliana had sung as she put down a layer of suppressive fire, allowing Zevran and Moira to slip unseen behind the two closest guards, slitting their throats. Zevran's laugh had echoed out over the guard's shouts in the abandoned warehouse as he flitted from target to target, his daggers flashing in the torchlight.

Moira hadn't been as artistic with her kills, especially when she recognized several of the soldiers that had once been guests in her family's home. Fueled by rage, she had swung her swords, leaving a bloody path of destruction in her wake. The last man standing had screamed for mercy, his face forever frozen in a look of horror even as his head tumbled off his shoulders.

After securing the treasure, Moira had been violently ill outside the warehouse, blood that wasn't her own covering her hands and dripping into her eyes. Neither of her companions had said anything about her moment of weakness, even as Leliana gently dabbed the blood off her face with a handkerchief and Zevran came back from stripping the bodies of any gold or other valuable trinkets.

"Moira?" Grey eyes looked at her inquisitively.

"The chests the silver bars were in were still stamped with the Cousland crest," she said, her voice gone hollow. "They were enough to feed the people of Highever as well as the refugees who flooded the city for the entire winter." She would not apologize for her actions, not even to Nathaniel. "Come on," she said, clearing her throat. "We're wasting daylight."

Nathaniel matched his pace with hers, his hand capturing her wrist. He didn't use any pressure, his grip meant to merely get her attention instead of restraining her. "You lied about the money," he said. "You didn't steal that from any nobleman." He had come to terms with how she had felt about his father's guards, knowing by the expression on her face that she hadn't simply knocked them out cold and then plucked the stolen silver from their incapacitated hands. Had he been in her shoes, he would have killed them as well. He let go of her wrist, but stayed close to her side.

Moira shrugged. "It depends on how you look at it. Those fifty sovereigns were all I had left over from my own personal coffers. Did you really think I would use the Keep's money for this?"

His eyebrows rose. "So technically a noblewoman _is_ cursing her ill fortune right now?"

"Technically, yes. I would have liked to have used that money for armor or weapon upgrades instead. Anders might have been able to get a better staff if I hadn't paid the man." She eyed him. "And you need a new brace for your bow arm." The longbow he used had also seen better days, no matter how well Nathaniel cared for it.

He looked at his left arm. The brace he wore was old, but it had served him well, protecting his arm from wrist to elbow from the slapping recoil his bow gave every time he fired an arrow. "That money would have been suited better for medicine and bandages," he said. He cleared his throat and decided to lighten the mood. "So, does becoming the Dark Wolf have anything to do with the near obsession you had with everything and anything related to the Black Fox when you were a child?"

Moira blushed and shrugged again. "Perhaps. I hadn't thought of it at the time."

"You always did like to pretend that you were the Black Fox, much to Fergus' irritation." He could remember running through the forests surrounding Highever with her and Fergus, their voices shouting from the trees as they drew mission after mission from their young imaginations. "I think that was because he never got a turn to play him."

Moira laughed, remembering. "He did wind up playing whatever noble we were stealing from an awful lot, didn't he?"

"Will the two of you hurry up?" Anders asked. "Daylight. We're wasting it."

"You'd think that someone who refused to go into the Wending Wood because he got a bad feeling from the place would be hesitant to head off into the Blackmarsh," Moira drawled.

"Walking, talking trees are _creepy_," Anders replied. "Heading into a marsh that has the ruins of an abandoned and supposedly cursed town in the middle of it close to sundown? Not so much."

"You are a very strange man," Nathaniel said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You know, I get that a lot. Hey!" Anders caught up with Moira. "Is it true that you once joined up with the Black Fox? Did you get to meet any of his men? Better yet, did you meet his lady Servana?"

Moira rolled her eyes. "The Black Fox disappeared decades ago. Even if that did happen, how old do you think he'd be?"

"You never know. Didn't one of the tales say how he found a fountain promising eternal youth?"

"That," Moira said, playfully punching Anders in the arm, "is something my father used to tell me as a bedtime story. If something existed, surely we'd know about it by now."

"I don't know," Anders insisted. "Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction."


	12. good life

Title: Good Life  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #25; the curtain falls  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Desire demons in the Fade play divide and conquer  
Note: I went and applied some artistic creativity with what happens when you're thrown into the Fade during the Blackmarsh. A plot bunny wanted to see what would happen to Nathaniel if he had been around during the Circle Tower quest in Origins, so this was born.

As for the lack of Oghren when he was clearly going with them in the last chapter…for continuity's sake I'll just say that Anders spooked him with all the ghost stories surrounding the Blackmarsh and he decided to sit this one out.

* * *

Nathaniel groaned, holding the side of his head with his hand. Blinking, he grabbed his discarded bow and sat up quickly. Events were a blur. All he could recall was entering the Blackmarsh, finding Kristoff's body, and then being attacked by a talking darkspawn named the First. Then they'd been…

"Moira?" Standing, he spun around. "Anders?" Fitting an arrow against his bow, he held it at the ready in front of him. "Moira! Answer me!" He walked down the muddy path, his pulse thundering in his ears. The last he had seen of Moira had been when he had thrown himself over her, trying to protect her with his body from whatever magical blast the First had conjured up. By his reasoning, she and Anders should have been right next to him.

_Over here!_ Nathaniel's head whipped around to the left, his bow trained at anything that might jump out in front of him. For a moment, he could have sworn Moira had called out to him. Cautiously turning, he walked towards her voice.

"Where are you?"

_Come closer! We're this way!_ His feet came to a halt when the dirt path suddenly turned into stone. Looking around, he saw that he had somehow walked inside a building. "How can this be?" he wondered aloud. "There aren't any buildings here this well preserved." Continuing down the stone walkway, he couldn't help but notice that the scenery looked vaguely familiar, as if he'd been there before. If he wasn't mistaken, the area almost looked like one of the interior courtyards at Vigil's Keep where his mother had kept her roses. That was impossible; they were miles away. But still…

"Moira!" Something was compelling him to put his bow away. Every single piece of common sense he had told him that he shouldn't, that he should watch for enemies, but he couldn't keep his arms from putting the arrow back in his quiver and slinging his bow over his shoulder.

The sound of footsteps had him stopping in the middle of the corridor. It was foggy, but he could see that he had indeed found his way into a garden. "Papa!" A small girl around three years of age shot out from a side entrance, her arms stretched out to him. Nathaniel couldn't stop his body from kneeling down, his arms scooping her up. The girl squealed in joy, peppering his cheeks with tiny kisses. With each kiss, Nathaniel felt his head growing fuzzier and fuzzier.

He broke out into a large smile. "There's my girl. Did you miss me?" He shifted her weight onto one of his arms, his free hand reaching out to tickle her sides.

"Presents!"

"Evelyn, what did I tell you about pestering your father for gifts as soon as he's arrived?" Nathaniel looked up and saw Moira come down the pathway. She laughed as she shook her head. "At least let him rest for a while."

"Moira…" She came closer, her eyes shining affectionately.

"Welcome home, Husband," she said, reaching out to embrace him. "Did your business in Denerim conclude to your satisfaction?"

"Yes, it did. His Highness is most pleased with Amaranthine's supply of soldiers."

Moira nodded. "I had a feeling that Cailan would be," she agreed.

Nathaniel blinked. "Cailan?"

"Yes. King Cailan." She laughed and cupped his cheek. "Surely you haven't forgotten our king's name in such a short time?"

"But…" he shook his head, as if to clear it. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, but he couldn't place it. "Forgive me, Love. I must be more tired from my trip than I had realized."

Moira took hold of his hand. "Come then. Your father is waiting in the throne room for your report."

He pulled his hand out of her grasp. "My father? But Father is dead." Something was _not_ right. "You killed him for murdering your family."

Evelyn fidgeted against his side and Moira looked at him in horror. "What a terrible thing to say!" she told him. "My family isn't dead; I just received a letter from Mother this morning! And I would _never_ harm your father; Rendon is a dear man." She put her hand on her abdomen. "Look at what you've done; you've upset the baby."

Nathaniel was instantly contrite. "I'm such a fool," he said, putting his hand on the gentle swell of his wife's stomach. Underneath his palm, he could feel a faint fluttering, as if the child there was kicking. "My head feels so strange."

Moira's hands covered his. "Perhaps you should go straight to our bedroom and rest. I'm sure your father won't mind waiting for your report." She winked at him. "Let me get Evelyn settled with Adria and I'll join you." She went up on tiptoes, brushing her lips against his. Nathaniel closed his eyes and slanted his head, deepening the kiss. Holding his daughter in one arm and his wife in the other, he felt as if he'd never been this content in his entire life. _I never want to be anywhere else but here,_ he thought. _I want to stay here forever._

Still, something was not right. Breaking the kiss, he pressed the side of his face against Moira's hair. And that was when he realized what was wrong. There was a bitter, smoky scent there that did not belong.

"Lavender," he murmured.

"What was that?"

"Your hair. It doesn't smell right."

Evelyn held his cheeks in her tiny hands. "Papa?"

A feeling of dread came over him. "This isn't real. _You_ aren't real. None of this is." He backed away from Moira, who was frowning at him.

"Get away from him, foul demon!" Nathaniel turned towards the shout behind him, watching as Anders spun his staff around, magic gathering at the tip.

A loud growl came from the child in Nathaniel's arms. "No!" Nathaniel looked down at Evelyn, whose face had twisted into a look of inhuman rage. Crying out, he threw her away from him. She landed on her feet, snarling at Anders the entire time.

"You're too late!" Moira yelled, her face turning monstrous. "He's ours! You can't have him!" She opened her mouth and howled, launching herself at Nathaniel. Reflexes kicked in and he grabbed for the dagger at his belt. Blood splattered and the demon wearing Moira's face sagged against him. "My love…" She reached for him one last time before dying.

Nathaniel jerked the dagger out of the demon's chest, kicking the body as far away from him as possible. Stumbling, he landed hard on his backside. "Damn it," he groaned, scrubbing his face with shaking hands. "That's the second time I've had to do that." His head clear, he saw that they were back in the Blackmarsh.

"Doesn't get any easier, does it?" Anders asked, standing over the second demon, who was still smoking from the bolt of lightning he had lobbed at her. "Looks as if the First, or whatever that darkspawn was calling himself, sent us straight into the Fade. Funny, this place looks a lot friendlier in broad daylight."

"How much did you see?" Nathaniel asked, wiping his knife on the grass before sheathing it.

"Oh, not much. Just enough to know that they reeled you in with false promises of love and family. Desire demons, gotta love 'em, right?" He held his hand out to pull Nathaniel up from the ground.

Nathaniel stared at the girl demon. She had his black hair and Moira's eyes. He looked back at the second demon, the bump at her midsection even more pronounced now that she was flat on her back, her glassy eyes staring up at the sky. _False love and family,_ he thought with a sneer. _More like tempting me with what might have been had the Blight never happened, my father hadn't betrayed the Couslands, and Moira and I hadn't become Wardens._ "Absolutely adore them," he said dryly, gripping Anders' forearm and rising.

Anders whistled, glancing down at the one who looked like Moira. "At least they have an eye for detail," he noted. "In related news, aren't you the least bit curious about what the second set of desire demons had promised me?"

"Even if I wasn't, I'm sure you'll tell me." Nathaniel looked over the area, noting that there was a contraption that shone in the sunlight. Putting his hand on it, he jumped back when it activated.

"Ah, it looks like that will heal at least one of the tears in the Veil," Anders said, coming up and examining the mechanism. "There was a similar one where I was."

"Which means that there's a third one somewhere else, most likely wherever the Commander is."

"You're smart. I like that." Anders had to catch up to Nathaniel, who was already briskly walking in the approximate direction he recalled the third Veil tear to be. If he and Anders had been attacked by demons, then he wanted to hurry in order to help Moira out. "Socks."

"What?"

"Socks. The demons promised me a never ending supply of nice, toasty socks. Oh, and my phylactery on a silver platter for me to destroy at my leisure, but it was the socks that nearly won me over."

Nathaniel shook his head. "You have strange priorities."

"Thanks, I try." He would have said something else, but the sounds of battle had reached them. Both men broke into a run.

"Not a word of this to Moira," Nathaniel said, staring at the mage even as he reached for his bow.

Anders crossed his fingers over his chest. "My lips are sealed," he promised. "Now, shall we go rescue our Commander before we find out that she didn't need our help in the first place?"


	13. fields of gold

Title: Fields of Gold  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #16; think of me and I'll be there  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, eventually romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: She wondered what her father would have thought of this whole mess.  
Note: From the Dragon Age Wiki: Reflection - A simple amulet with a mirrored back and an archaic symbol of the Chantry on the front. Sometimes, when gazing into the silvered backing, there are fleeting glimpses of someone else: the face is familiar, and the smile encouraging.

* * *

Moira, Anders, Nathaniel and their newly acquired Warden named Justice (the thought that a Fade spirit inhabiting the body of a dead man gave her chills) had just returned from the Blackmarsh. Her neck and arm ached from where a blight-ridden werewolf had mauled her – she was certain that encounter would join all the others currently fueling nightmares for nights to come – she was bloody and exhausted and all Moira wanted was a hot meal, a hot bath, and her bed, not necessarily in that order.

Of course, that meant that the second they stepped foot inside Vigil's Keep, people were pulling her one direction after another. The Private who often delivered her letters said that Varel was looking for her while a maid fell into step beside her and was already fussing with her, repeating that her presence as Arlessa was needed and _heavens_ what did she have in her hair, _entrails?_ Moira opened her mouth to protest when Nathaniel's voice thundered behind her.

"Enough," he barked, making everyone stop in their tracks. Turning to the Private, he crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. "Is this a dire matter?"

"I'm afraid so, Ser. Seneschal Varel requested the Commander's presence immediately. There are several matters that need to be addressed, including criminal issues."

"Report to Varel," Nathaniel continued. "Inform him that the Commander will address these issues as soon as possible, but not until after…" He rolled his eyes at the maid who had her lip curled upwards in distaste. "Oh, for Andraste's sake, _yes_, those are dead darkspawn bits in her hair." He reached out and plucked the offending material out of Moira's tangled braids at the back of her head, tossing them onto the ground. "Unless you think that he'll mind her discussing matters as she is, then notify Varel that she'll join him in the throne room once she's had an opportunity to make herself more presentable."

The maid bobbed a curtsey while stammering something about ordering hot water and the Private ran off into the Keep to deliver Nathaniel's message. Moira all but sagged against him. "Thank you," she said, giving him a halfhearted hug.

Nathaniel stiffened, remembering his encounter with the desire demons in the Fade. "You looked like you needed some assistance," he told her, noting the way that the arm she had wrapped around his waist shook with fatigue. "Are you going to be able to do this?"

She looked up at him and he could see just how worn down she was. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

His hand went over her shoulder, his fingers gentle as they traced over the still healing bite marks. Her breastplate had cracked and split under the pressure of werewolf fangs and demon hands; it had been far too painful to wear as is, so it was currently at the bottom of her pack. "You could order Varel to make decisions in your stead."

"I could, but then people would say that I'm merely a figurehead; that if they really wanted to get to the true power of Amaranthine, then they needed to get past my seneschal." There was a determined glint to her eye. "I might not have wanted to become Arlessa the way that I did, but I'm going to try to be the best one that I'm capable of being."

"Go to your bath," Nathaniel said quietly, stepping away. "Just try not to fall asleep in the tub; I might have bought you some time, but if I remember properly, citizens with concerns are only patient for so long."

The hot water was heavenly against Moira's aching muscles. She sighed and attempted to unwind, but her self-imposed time restraints had her rushing through her bathing routine. Jillian, the maid from the courtyard, came in and helped Moira into a dark blue gown with a contrasting girdle in a soft grey fabric. The dress had a high neckline and long sleeves, for which Moira was grateful. The fang and claw marks were still a vivid red against her pale skin, which would probably be seen as a weakness to whoever she would be addressing. Anders had healed her as best as he could, but he had already been exhausted trying to keep them all alive while they fought against the pride demon. She shuddered, still feeling the demon's hand around her as it squeezed. Luckily, Anders had enough mana left at the time to heal the ribs that had snapped under the pressure of the demon's grasp, but the muscles around them were still incredibly sore. Her breath hissed out between clenched teeth as Jillian tightened the laces of the girdle, her abused ribs protesting. Moira sat at her makeup stand and watched in the mirror as Jillian brushed her now gore-free hair away from her face, fastening it with a pair of silver combs edged with sapphires. Looking at herself without the familiar braids framing her face, she couldn't help but notice the dark smudges underneath her eyes or the way that her face had lost all traces of its former girlhood roundness. She was only twenty-six, but she looked older. She wasn't certain that was a good thing or not.

"I was sent to make certain you didn't drown," Anders said, knocking on her bedroom door even as he opened it, much to Jillian's protests. Moira looked him over, noticing that even though he looked as worn out as she felt, he still had the energy to give her an appraising leer. "If I do say so, you clean up quite nicely, Commander." He held out his elbow and she went to him, the two of them propping the other up as they walked down the hallway.

"You don't have to stay," Moira told him. "You look like you're ready to drop."

"Truthfully, this whole Grey Warden business isn't all it's cracked up to be. I mean, freedom from the Circle is amazing, but it's been nothing but work, work, work since I signed on. Where's the wine, women and song that I'd been promised?"

She hid her smile behind her hand. "I don't seem to recall that being part of the Joining," she said. "Though I do believe we've all earned a rest."

"Too bad you have to deal with Arlessa business."

"Well, that's what happens when you're the boss of everyone." She looked up at him. "Did Varel send you to escort me down?"

Anders shook his head. "No, our ever dour Howe did." He arched his eyebrow when he felt her stumble against him in surprise. "What's the story between you two? You hardly say a single word to the other for days, but now the two of you are chatting like you're old friends."

Moira bit her lip. "We _are_ old friends," she said carefully. "We grew up together."

"Then what was with the ever so pleasant glaring contests the two of you were doing since you met him again? Let me tell you, filling in awkward silences with clever banter has never been so difficult."

Moira's hand went up to toy with the necklace she had chosen to wear, her fingers running over the raised Chantry symbol on the front of the pendant. "It's a very long story, one that we don't presently have time to go through. Needless to say, Nathaniel and I have worked through our differences."

Anders gave an amused sounding chuckle. "I'll say."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "Nothing." Pushing the door to the throne room open, he guided her through, his hand warm on the middle of her back. "One of these days, you're going to have to ask him what he saw back there in the Fade." She wanted to ask him what he meant, but he was already drifting away from her and headed towards his usual spot against the wall. She looked around, finding Nathaniel in his corner. None of the other Wardens were present, which made Moira wonder why he had decided to stay. She couldn't help the blush that rose to her cheeks when she saw the look of silent admiration he gave her. Her eyes flew towards Anders, who was already smirking as if to say that he knew a secret that she didn't. Deciding to ignore both of them – Anders because the knowing look was starting to annoy her and Nathaniel because she couldn't afford to be flustered at the moment – she kept her back straight and walked as elegantly as she was able to in her current state towards the dais.

Sitting, Moira quickly found out, on the Keep's throne was incredibly uncomfortable. It might have been better if the chair itself was constructed differently; the tall, hard back and narrow, unforgiving seat was not her first choice in seating arrangements. Then again, the dress she had been fit into wasn't helping matters either. Sitting with anything less than perfect posture made the girdle's boning dig into her ribs, which in turn made taking a full breath a challenge. She listened, uncomfortable and tired, as she was presented with three cases. The first two had been easy to judge; the sheepherder Alec had been conscripted into her army as payment for stealing grain and she had sided with Ser Darren in the land dispute between him and Lady Liza. The third had been more difficult. Ser Temmerly had been accused of murdering Ser Tamra. The news had caused her heart to plummet; it seemed as if the conspirators had claimed their first victim. Varel had advised her to let Ser Temmerly go due to lack of solid proof, but Moira knew in her heart that he had taken part in the murder. In the end, she had ordered him imprisoned while a lengthy investigation was put underway. Ser Temmerly hadn't been pleased with her ruling and the glare he had given her as he was led away had chilled her to the bone.

Hall cleared, Moira found herself unable to leave. Part of it was plain exhaustion, but the other part was that she found herself brooding over her three judgments. Frowning, she played with her pendant again, holding it up in the torchlight. Every once and a while, she swore she saw her father smile up at her on the mirrored back.

"What would you have to say about this, Father?" she asked quietly, her fingertip running along the edge of the hazy figure. She could remember hiding behind the heavy tapestries in the Great Hall as a child, elbowing Fergus out of the way as they listened to their father address the concerns of the citizens of Highever. He had been fair with his judgments, justly punishing those that had committed crimes and dissolving potentially volatile situations with tact and grace. After, she remembered how he would sit in his chair – it had been wider and more approachable than the one she was currently perched on – and call out to his children. It had never amazed Moira how he had always known when they were listening in, especially since she and her brother took great pains to be as silent as Chantry mice for fear that Nan would find them and make them leave.

_Have I done the right thing, Pup?_ he had often asked her, wondering what her and Fergus' opinions had been on what they just witnessed. She remembered curling onto his lap and snuggling against his side while they spoke, feeling safe and loved.

She sighed. Here, she didn't have a lap to sit in, nor did she have a sounding board to ask if she had done what was right. Wincing, she rose from the throne and put her hand against her aching ribs. It would be good to get out of the dress and flop atop her bed. If she had anything to say about it, she would be allowed to sleep until late afternoon.

"Are you still in pain?"

Moira stifled a scream and whirled around. "I wish you wouldn't sneak up on me like that, Nate," she said, her hand against her throat.

He gave her a rueful smile. "Sorry, habit." Tilting his head, he thought her words over. "That's the first time I've heard you call me Nate in years."

She opened her mouth, but then shut it again, her cheeks pink. "It slipped out. I won't, if you prefer."

"No, I don't mind." He _didn't_ mind; hearing her call him by his old nickname sent a warm thrill through him. "But back to my original question, are you still in pain?"

She grimaced. "It's these damnable stays," she complained. "I swear some man fashioned this dress. A woman wouldn't have put laces where one couldn't easily reach."

"It's a very pretty dress," he said, turning Moira so that her back was facing him. He'd seen her in mostly blood splattered armor lately; it made him forget just how lovely she could look in more courtly wear. Deftly loosening the grey laces, he heard her sigh in relief.

"I guess Leliana was right; beauty is pain." They were quiet for a moment then she spoke up. "Did I do the right thing?" she asked. She may not have her father's comforting words to fall back on, but she wondered if she might have a sounding board with her after all.

"On which one?"

"All of them." Without the binding girdle, sitting upon the throne was worlds easier.

Nathaniel sprawled on the stone steps at her feet, leaning his back against the chair. "Theft from the Crown is punishable by hanging," he said, quoting the law. "Had he stolen from anyone less he could have gotten away with a simple flogging."

"That's what Varel said."

"Then why did you choose to have him serve in your army instead?"

Moira tapped her fingers against the arm of the throne. "Because he stole the grain to feed his starving family. The Blight has touched everyone, especially those who rely on their fields and livestock as a way of life." Darkspawn had destroyed those fields and slaughtered the livestock, leaving nothing for the survivors. "A dead man cannot provide for his family, nor can a man recovering from a flogging."

"He's a sheepherder. How do you know he won't simply die in the next fight he's in?"

Moira pinched the bridge of her nose. "Even if he is, his family will be well taken care of. In the meantime, they will get their ration of grain as well as a soldier's pay to set aside for more provisions." She leaned back, her head hitting the hard back of the throne with a muted thump. "What of Ser Darren?"

"My father had a written pact with Lady Liza. Legally, that bridge should have gone to her."

She sighed. "I know it should have." She also knew that if she had denied Darren that she would have been without one more supportive voice in the crowd. She needed all the help that she could get.

Nathaniel looked up at her, noticing the way she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. It was a nervous habit of hers that she did whenever she was distressed about something. "You had very little choice in the matter," he said softly, reaching up and taking hold of her hand. "You could have given the land to Lady Liza and risked losing one of your few allies doing so or you could have simply taken the land for yourself."

She snorted. "Ah, yes. And then I'd be seen as a tyrant by both parties. I think not." She looked down to where Nathaniel had laced his fingers with her own. She had forgotten just how tactile he had been when he had wanted to, and how much she had missed the simple touch of another person. Court life and the protocols that went with it all but forbade touching, lest gossips start rumors from a friendly elbow or supportive hug. She'd felt isolated in the palace, even when surrounded by a great deal of people. "Which brings us to Ser Temmerly."

His eyes narrowed. "He is guilty."

"You felt it as well?"

Nathaniel nodded. "He thinks that being born noble gives him immunity. Unfortunately, you didn't have enough evidence to merely order his execution."

"I wanted to," she confessed. "Yet if I did, what message would that send to everyone?" The look Temmerly had given her had made her wonder if he was in on the conspiracy on her life as well. Keeping him behind bars meant that there was one less potential killer out on the loose.

"Imprisoning him was the fair verdict." He glanced up at her, his face serious. "Although it doesn't mean that he can't meet his end behind bars just the same." He too felt that Temmerly was involved with the plot against Moira and he would sleep much better knowing that the man was dead.

She arched her eyebrow. "You would do that for me?"

"If you asked it of me, yes." They were whispering now, their faces close.

Moira looked away first. "I'll not have you play the part of assassin," she said quietly, slipping her fingers away from his. "This is my mess; I should be the one to clean it up." She stood up and stepped down from the dais.

"Why must you think that you have to do everything alone?" he demanded, coming up behind her. His hand roughly went around her arm and she drew a sharp breath in through her nose as pain flared up her shoulder. "That sort of thinking is why touching you now hurts so much."

"Anders doesn't wear armor. He could have been killed had I not stepped in the way."

Nathaniel fought the urge to squeeze her shoulders in frustration. "Then he should bloody well _start_ wearing armor," he growled instead, moving away.

"You've acted differently since we've come back," she said, turning to face him. "You've been protective of me; what's changed?"

"I thought we were friends now," he said sullenly. "Isn't it usual for someone to wish to protect their friend?"

"This goes past that, Nathaniel." She bit her lip again. "Anders said that something happened when we were in the Fade."

He shook his head and exhaled loudly. "What part of _not a word of this to Moira_ does that man not understand?" he muttered to himself. Looking at her, he sighed. "We were married," he told her. "The demons, they gave me a world where nothing had happened – the Blight, my father's betrayal, everything. It was as it should have been once I returned from the Free Marches. I was in charge of Father's garrison. We had a daughter together and another child on the way."

Moira's breath caught in her throat. "Oh, Nate…" Reaching up, she cupped his cheek with her palm. He turned his face against her hand, his lips dragging over the skin at her wrist.

"When I realized that something was wrong, they attacked." He closed his eyes and pressed her hand tighter against his cheek. "I _hate_ the fact that I have to kill monsters that look like you. I don't know if I can bear to do it again."

Moira's heart went out to him. "Her name was Evelyn."

He looked up at her. "How did you know?"

She gave him a sad smile. "I always wanted a daughter with that name." She looked down. "Though now I'll never get that chance."

"Why do you say that?"

Moira sighed, her hand sliding down to rest on his chest. "Alistair said that he's never heard of Grey Wardens having children after their Joining. I did some research and found out that it's an incredibly rare occurrence, which is yet another reason I refused to marry Alistair when Eamon suggested that I would be a good match for him. The king needs an heir; if one Warden has a slim chance of conceiving a child, think how small the chances would be for two of them together." She felt a pang, but quickly suppressed it. Why would she even think that Nathaniel would be interested in having children with her?

Then she thought back to his words. Desire demons played on their victim's deepest wishes. They'd shown him a world where the two of them had been married, had they not? Did that mean…

He looked at her, the backs of his fingers gently running along her cheeks. He curled his fingers downwards until he was stroking the sides of her jawline with the pads of his thumbs. His brain was still processing _I always wanted a daughter_ and frowning over _marry Alistair_ when he realized that the upset look in her eyes was due to the possibility of the two of _them_ never being able to have children. "You would have made a good mother," he murmured, stepping in closer. Moira's heart beat faster – he was so close now that she could feel his breath ghost over her lips. "And you're doing the right thing now, with this arling. You might not have originally wanted this position, but you're doing well. Don't ever doubt that." He stepped away then and headed to the door. He felt that if he had stayed any longer that he might have done something stupid, like giving into the urge to kiss her, if only to try to erase the sad look on her face.

Moira stared at his retreating figure. Bringing the pendant back up to eye level, she let out a shaky breath. "Well Papa," she said. "What do you think of _this_ development?" She searched the mirrored backing for any trace of the figure who usually smiled encouragingly up at her, but all that was reflected back at her was her own image.


	14. so far away

Title: So Far Away  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #19; aurora borealis, northern lights  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland  
Rating: G  
Summary: No matter where you've been, everyone has a best and worst camping story.

* * *

"All right, what was the worst camping experience you had?" While Moira had originally planned to sleep the entire day away after coming back from the Blackmarsh, her body hadn't cooperated with her. Her eyes had snapped open well before dawn and the lingering ache in her muscles had made lying in bed difficult. A rumbling stomach had led her to the still empty kitchens where she'd been surprised to see Nathaniel already raiding the larder shelves. He'd given her a slightly embarrassed look before moving over so she could grab an apple and the remains of a cheese wedge. A little more digging around produced a kettle, which soon held enough fragrant tea for the both of them.

Nathaniel tapped the side of his mug with his fingers. "Five years ago. I was part of a scouting party along the coastline between the Free Marches and Antiva." He took a sip. "No one told me that hurricanes were in season." He shuddered, remembering how the howling wind and stinging rain had buffeted their party. Had they not found shelter, he was certain that they would have met their end, especially when hail the size of his fist started falling from the sky.

"I remember that," she told him, stretching her legs out in front of her. They'd taken their breakfast outside, where they waited for the sun to rise. "You wrote saying how the wind had actually bent tall trees in two."

"What about you?" Nathaniel pulled himself a handful of bread from the loaf they had pilfered. "What was the worst you've been through?"

Moira leaned back against the battlement wall. She thought for a while: there were several instances, say the time that Oghren had run about camp without his pants, or the time Zevran had tried to sneak into her tent but had gotten Alistair's by mistake – Alistair's curses had woken the entire camp that time – or maybe the time that they had been caught in a torrential rainstorm and Moira's tent was the only one that hadn't leaked, which meant that she had to share it with just about everyone. That hadn't been a restful night. In fact, she didn't think anyone actually slept, seeing that they all had to sit crammed tightly together just to fit inside the tent. Sitting with her legs up to her chin and her arms hugging her knees, Moira had been sandwiched between Morrigan and Leliana, the former complaining about living conditions and the latter trying to find the silver lining in the situation. Alistair had continuously apologized for his hand accidentally bumping against Leliana's thigh, Wynne had shivered so much that Moira worried for her health, and Zevran kept offering his lap as a cushion, should anyone get tired of sitting on the ground. Sten had looked miserable, his great body hunched over just so his head wouldn't hit the roof of the tent. Oghren had offered to pass around the wineskin he kept as a way to ward off the damp, but it had been emptied after one round, which put the dwarf in a sullen mood.

Everything would have been all right had the thunder not scared poor Quinn so much that the hound had jumped into Moira's arms for comfort, knocking down the tent's support pole in the process.

"The Frostback Mountains," Moira said, finally picking a time. "A blizzard forced us to camp there for several nights." She shivered, just thinking about it. They had been trying to reach Orzammar before the weather had put a halt to their plans. She, Wynne, Morrigan and Alistair had wound up walking through snowdrifts almost as tall as Alistair, who had taken the lead, clearing a path for them with his shield acting as a makeshift snowplow. Morrigan had been behind him, casting fire spells every now and then when the snow was too thick for Alistair to shove through. In the end, they had decided to set up camp underneath an outcropping of rock that provided some shelter from the storm, connecting their tents to make one large one. "I almost danced when we finally reached Orzammar. While being underneath the mountains was claustrophobic, at least it had been _warm_." Their meager fire had almost died out several times; she and Alistair had scouted around for extra wood, but everything they had found was already soaked from the snow. At night, the three of them had huddled together for warmth, though even with the extra blankets and body heat, Moira had still felt chilled. Morrigan had simply created a nest with her share of the blankets before shifting into her wolf form. She hadn't seemed bothered with the cold and it had been the first time Moira had ever wished she had been a mage, just so she could have done the same.

"That sounds particularly unbearable."

Moira took another sip of her tea and made an _mmmhm_ noise of agreement. "It was pretty bad, but there were a few good things that came out of that trip. The most important one was that we wound up getting the newly crowned King Harrowmont's support against the Blight."

"And the other good things?" He remembered her telling him about searching for the Anvil of the Void, but she had glossed over many details. He hadn't pushed her, seeing that she was reluctant to talk about the Deep Roads and the darkspawn she and her party had fought there.

"Let's see. The sky the second night had been incredibly clear. Of course, that meant that it had also been incredibly cold, but you could see stars from miles around." During her watch, Moira had been astounded by the fact that the night sky had looked like a dark, upturned bowl filled with sparkling lights. "And then there were the Southern Flashes."

"I've never seen them."

Moira stretched her back. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I don't know what causes it, but parts of the sky light up in different colors, creating waves of light. I can't describe it properly, but the first time I saw such a thing, it brought tears to my eyes." She glanced at him, as if gauging his reaction. "It reminded me that no matter how ugly the world had become, there was still some beauty left in nature. To be able to witness such a thing was a humbling experience."

They were quiet for a while, companionably finishing their breakfast. "After the storm," Nathaniel finally said, "the sky had turned this odd yellowish green color. The rest of my party had thought it was an ill omen, but all I could think was how green the grass had looked in comparison. The sea had been a choppy grey color, but even that had been lovely in its own. The wind had finally died down, enveloping us in a cone of stillness. The way you spoke of the Southern Flashes is how I felt to have seen such destruction one moment and complete silence the next."

"It makes you realize just how tiny we are in the grand scheme of things, doesn't it?"

"That it does." He hooked his arm over his upraised knee. "Now tell me, what was your _best_ camping experience?"

Moira looked over the battlements. The sun was beginning to rise on the horizon, the sky turning golden and rosy. Giving him a smile, she leaned over until their shoulders bumped. "I wouldn't call it a camping experience, per se, but sharing a breakfast with a friend while watching the sun rise has to rank pretty high up there."

Nathaniel grinned, his eyes lighting up. "Funny, I was going to say the exact same thing."


	15. sway

Title: Sway  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #6, run away (and we're halfway through!)  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: PG-13 for Warden-makeouts  
Summary: Moira gives so many gifts to everyone, yet doesn't get anything in return. Nathaniel wants to fix that.  
Note: Seductive!Nate makes my toes curl. That is all.

* * *

Moira raised her knuckles to Nathaniel's door to knock, but then stopped. I_Is this a good idea?/i_ she wondered, second guessing herself as she looked at the bow she had propped up against the wall. She had intended it to be a gift, but it was late; Nathaniel might already be asleep, especially after the day that they had. She shivered. The basement tunnels leading to the Deep Roads hadn't been teeming with darkspawn, but she could sense more further on down past the doors they had sealed to protect the Keep. Oghren had made light of the situation, telling her that it felt like old times to be back underground, but she had hated it. After they came back, she had spent much of the evening outside, just enjoying the feel of the wind in her face and trying to erase the memory of walls that felt as if they would close in on them at any given time.

Velanna had done much the same, except she had gone past the walls of the Keep and out into the forests beyond. By the time Moira had come down from the battlements, the Dalish elf had still not returned. Yet where Oghren had been right at home and she and Velanna had been claustrophobic, Nathaniel had been oddly silent. In fact, he hadn't shown any sign of distress save for his observation that the Keep seemed to be situated on top of crumbling foundations.

Biting her bottom lip, Moira took a breath and knocked. "Enter," Nathaniel barked out from behind the door. Moira thought that he sounded irritated, so she left the bow out in the hallway. His gift could wait for another day, depending on his mood.

"Oh," he said, looking up from the fireplace. "I thought you'd gone to bed already." He was shirtless, and a quick glance told Moira he had just finished bathing, if the damp towel hanging on the rim of the tub was anything to go by.

"I couldn't sleep." She'd tried, but every time she shut her eyes, she caught a glimpse of the spirit that had been imprisoned under the Keep for who knew how long.

His mouth quirked upwards. "I should have known." He gave a brief thought to tossing on a shirt, but then he noticed the subtle way Moira's eyes were looking over him and he decided to indulge in a little self-torture. "So, that was the Deep Roads?"

She twisted her hands together. "A very small portion, yes."

"It gets worse the further you go in, doesn't it?" He was talking about the sickening pull at the center of his chest, and he knew that Moira understood what he was talking about when she nodded, her hand going to her sternum. "How did you manage going past the Deep Trenches?"

She looked up at him. "How did you know about that?"

"Oghren talks when you supply him with enough alcohol." He shrugged. "Oghren talks even when you _don't_, but he tends to say more when one is in his good graces."

Her fingers unconsciously went to her hip. It wasn't very noticeable – Wynne's healing magic had taken care of that worry – but there was a slightly raised portion of skin where the Broodmother in the Deep Trenches had splashed her with acidic vomit. Her gorge rose as she remembered the stench of her flesh burning, how the pain had been so intense that the only thing keeping her upright had been the massive dose of adrenaline running through her system. "I'm surprised he would mention that; we fought his wife there." Branka's obsession with the Anvil had led her to destroy her entire house. Moira had never approved of that; had their places been reversed, Moira would have ventured out into the Deep Roads alone before subjecting her people to the horrors that awaited them. "I think today's trip unnerved him a little more than he realized. Oghren's usual way of coping with things that bother him is to either plow through them or ignore them completely." It would account for the forced way he had acted, boasting that it was just like old times a little too much while killing darkspawn with even more violence than he usually employed.

"I think this visit unnerved him just as much as it did me."

"You were bothered?" She hugged her arms. "You could have fooled me."

He shrugged. "I tried to hide it. You didn't need to worry about me when you had everything else on your mind." He turned back to the fireplace, his hands braced against the mantle. His arm tensed when he felt her hand on his bicep.

"Alistair and I managed the Deep Trenches _because_ we told the other how scared we were. Next time, let me know. We'll get through it better together."

His right hand went up and covered hers. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, turning so that he was facing her. Moira stared; the firelight cast shadows over his body, making her aware of the dips and valleys different muscles on his torso made.

"I have something for you," she said quickly, forcing herself not to ogle. "I left it outside." She was suddenly thankful that she had, because the way that he was looking at her had made her want to do something foolish, like jump into his arms and kiss him senseless. Retrieving the item gave her an opportunity to gather the wits he had an uncanny talent for scattering.

"Is that what I think it is?" he asked once she came back into the room with the bow in her hands. "It is, look! There's the Howe crest burned into the wood!"

"I found it in a sack in the basements," she explained.

"I don't know why it would have been there, the last time I saw it was when it had been in the storage room." He hefted it in his hands, testing the weight and balance. "This is my grandfather's bow."

"The one that was a Warden?" Moira remembered him talking about a grandfather that had joined their order, but had never returned to the family.

"That's the one. Actually, this wasn't _his_ bow; it was made for another family member during the Exalted Marches." The string would need replacing, but the nock tips were in excellent condition. His fingers ran over the wood, trying to find any cracks or warped areas, but everything was perfectly intact. "This was made to last; I'm certain that with a little care, it can still be used today."

"It's yours now, if you want it," she said, smiling at the way he focused on his inspection. "There was also a leather quiver that was in the same bag, but I left that in my room."

Very carefully, Nathaniel set the bow on top of his bed. "You've given me so many gifts recently," he said. "First the lock picking tools, then the bronze sextant."

"I thought you might need those," she said, twisting a lock of hair in her fingers. "They both serve practical uses."

"And what practical use do I have for the painted skyball or the vase?" She'd gifted him with the vase bearing his family's mark just the other day, saying that she'd found it for sale in the market and had thought of him.

She blushed. She'd carried around the skyball since finding it in the Brecilian forest during the Blight, memories of the evenings over the years that they would sneak out of either Highever or Vigil's Keep to stargaze. Watching the night sky was a flimsy excuse to curl up in the other's arms, but it had gotten them past the guards or others that had come across their path without any trouble. "I thought you might appreciate it," she mumbled, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Moira." He tipped her chin up with his fingers, making her look up at him. "My point is that you've gifted me – all of us, actually – with so many things, but you've never asked for anything in return."

"That's not why I do it," she told him, vaguely aware that she was slowly backing up towards the closed door. "I do it because it makes me happy to see everyone enjoy their gifts."

"And yet I think you deserve more than a simple _this is nice_ or _I've always wanted one of these_ from me." He reached out and bracketed his hands against the door on either side of her head. "For once I'd like to give you something."

"It isn't necessary," she whispered, her breath hitching when he leaned in, his chest brushing against her breasts. Rational thought flew out of her head and she arched her back ever so slightly, teasing a groan out of Nathaniel, even as the move made her bite her lip to smother a gasp.

"You have no idea how maddeningly attractive that is," he murmured, his thumb stroking her bottom lip.

Her eyes shut on their own accord. "Maddeningly?"

"Incredibly. It constantly drives me to distraction." He leaned in even further, his mouth at her ear. "It makes me wish to be the one biting your lip instead." He punctuated his declaration with a nip to her earlobe, which made Moira's knees turn to water.

Holding onto his sides to keep her balance, she tipped her head. "You have quite the way of saying thank you," she gasped, her nails gently raking across his ribs as he trailed his mouth down from her ear to the column of her throat. His back was hot under her hands and she couldn't get enough of the feel of bare skin at her fingertips.

He smirked against her collarbone. "You should see how I say _thank you very much_."

She let out a nervous bubble of laughter that turned into a moan at the feel of his teeth closing around the skin where her neck met her shoulder. She wound her arms around his neck, her mouth opening on a silent gasp when his hands dragged over her shirt to settle at her waist, his thumbs slowly running circles across the undersides of her breasts. "Nate," she sighed, shifting so her leg could wrap around his. He murmured something unintelligible against her skin, but his hands moved from her waist to round against her backside, grabbing her firmly to press her close to him as his mouth found hers.

Kissing Nathaniel was like taking a deep breath of air after living in stifling conditions for eight years. She matched his intensity, threading her fingers through his hair and slanting her head to deepen their kiss. Her mouth muffled his moan but it didn't stop the sound from vibrating through her body and making her shiver. She shook even further when his tongue reacquainted itself with the edges of her teeth, then as he made good on his promise when he nipped at her bottom lip. She felt herself go slack in his arms and was grateful when one of his hands went to the back of her head, otherwise she might have hurt herself when she used the door she was leaning against as leverage to press herself even that much closer to him. He all but growled out her name, thrusting his thigh between her legs and kissing her hard enough to bruise.

Deep in the back of her mind through the languorous haze of desire came a memory from the Deep Trenches. She and Alistair had been so shaken with the presence of darkspawn that they had clung to the other once they had reached Orzammar safely, if only to assure the other that they had survived the ordeal. While her and Alistair had only platonically embraced as friends, she and Nathaniel…

Moira blinked, coming back to her right mind. She turned her head away, Nathaniel's lips scoring her cheek instead of their intended target. "I have to go," she said, her voice throaty. She slid her hands around him until she was able to softly push against his chest, giving her enough space to think without the tempting scent of soap and leather and something distinctly _male_ that clung to him fogging her senses.

He sighed, but moved aside a step. "Running away?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that did absolutely terrible things to Moira's body.

Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "Tactical retreat," she replied thickly, her hand groping for the door handle behind her.

"Is it a permanent strategy?" He hoped not. Raking his fingers through his still damp hair, he fought to stay where he was, seeing that distance was what Moira wanted at the moment. He'd regained so much ground in these past weeks that he'd hate to lose it all over one misstep. Yet kissing her…he swallowed. Kissing her again after so long made him feel as if some important piece of him that had long since been missing had finally been put back into place.

She opened the door. "Only a temporary one."

"How temporary?"

She worried her lip, now noticing how his eyes zeroed in on her mouth. "Ask me again in a few days," she told him. Using the speed she usually employed on the battlefield, she swooped in and pressed her lips against his for a quick, chaste kiss. She was gone before he could react, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

He peered down the hallway, the taste of her still lingering on his lips and wondering what had caused her to leave so abruptly. He had been standing at the fire before she had knocked on his door, wishing for some sort of human contact to erase the pull of darkspawn that had made his skin crawl. When she had arrived, all he had wanted to do was bury his face in her hair and hold her close, if only to keep the nightmares that were certain to arrive that night at bay.

Exhaling, he leaned his head against the doorframe. "Well, _that_ explains it," he said, his mouth tugging into a sardonic smile. At least _one_ of them had seen what that sudden flash of need had been. He sighed. There _had_ been a growing tension between them since…he frowned. He didn't exactly know, perhaps the attraction he felt towards her had carried over from eight years ago, or maybe seeing her in this new light and slowly gaining respect for her abilities had triggered something. Whatever it was or whenever it had happened, he couldn't deny the fact that there was _something_ there.

He was about to curse his ill timing for ruining any future chances he might have with Moira when her words finally sank in. "Ask her again in a few days," he mused, turning back towards his bedroom. His eyes fell on the bow lying across his bed. He hadn't been lying when he said he wished to give Moira something in return for all the gifts she had given him. Picking up the bow, he carefully placed it on the weapons stand he had set up near his bed. It felt good to have something of his family that he could be proud of, and it felt even better knowing she had been the one to give it to him. Several days would give him ample time to go into town and find the dagger set he had seen Moira eye appreciatively before turning aside and using her money to purchase an armor upgrade for Oghren. He admitted that knives might not be the most popular of courtship gifts to give a woman, but they were practical and he was certain she would appreciate the gesture.

Besides, there would be plenty of time for gifts of the romantic variety later on.


	16. sweet dancer

Title: Paradise by the Dashboard Light  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #26, "I never say the truth"  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: PG-ish for tipsy Wardens, kissy faces and wandering hands  
Summary: In vino veritas - explanations as to when lampposts have been licked are exposed.

* * *

Moira came to the conclusion that it was entirely Anders' fault that the room was spinning pleasantly around her after her third – third? Fourth? She'd lost count – cup of wine. He had been the one to remind Nathaniel of the vintage spirits that they'd found in the cellars, and Nathaniel hadn't objected to opening up a bottle or two.

Moira changed her mind. It was _Nathaniel's_ fault that the room was spinning, especially since he was in the middle of pouring another cup for her. "We're going to regret this in the morning," she said, pleased that her words hadn't slurred too badly.

"You only live once, Commander," he replied. Nathaniel hadn't quite imbibed as much as she had; he was still nursing his first glass compared to the upturned glasses currently sitting in front of her. He, Moira, Anders and Oghren had wandered into the Keep's rarely used Great Hall at least two hours ago. Now Anders was laying down on the dining table, his foot swinging off the edge, Oghren was last seen falling under the table, Moira was perilously close to slipping out of her chair, and Nathaniel was the only sober one in the group.

It was no wonder that Velanna or Justice didn't want to have anything to do with them in the off hours.

"I think," Anders started, still staring at the ceiling. "That we should play a game."

Oghren's voice floated up from somewhere near the floor. "If you say _pin the nug on the genlock_, I'm gonna have to sit this one out."

Moira's eyebrow rose. "Do I even want to ask?"

"It was a painful disaster. Let's leave it at that."

"No," Anders continued. "What I was thinking was that we do a little round of getting to know one another better. Someone asks a question and then everyone answers. The last person to answer gets to ask the next question." He sat up, disturbing Ser Pounce-a-Lot from his napping spot on the mage's chest. "I'll start. What is your favorite color?"

"This doesn't sound like much of a game," Nathaniel said, taking another sip of his wine.

"All the same, you have to answer."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "Green."

"As you can tell by my robes, it's yellow."

"Blue."

Anders leaned on his elbow. "What, not red?"

Moira shrugged. "I see too much red as it is on a near daily basis."

There was a belch from under the table. "What color is ale?"

* * *

"All right," Anders said, opening up another bottle. "Let's get to the harder questions." They had already been playing for several turns and the questions had ranged from easy, silly one word answers to the little more complicated 'there's a story behind this' ones. "Who was the first person you ever kissed?"

Moira was in the middle of looking into the depths of her glass when the question was asked. "If I didn't know any better, I would have thought we'd just been invited to a slumber party." She had tried to limit her drinks several turns ago, but her head was still fuzzy. "If anyone suggests sitting in a circle braiding each other's hair and giggling over shoes, I'm leaving."

"Hey, the question's a good one. Who was the first boy you ever kissed?"

Moira tilted her head and Nathaniel leaned forward, interested in what she had to say. "That would have had to have been Roland Gilmore. I was twelve, he was fifteen."

Anders rubbed his hands together in glee. "Oho! An older man! So, what was it like?"

"Messy. I was wondering just what was so interesting about kissing, so I caught him unaware one day in the stables." She smiled at the memory. He had been so intent on grooming one of the horses that he hadn't heard her approach. "I got his attention, and when he turned to see what I wanted, I kissed him." Actually, she had smashed her mouth to his so hard that their teeth had clacked together and the look of abject fright on his face had been comical. "It wasn't quite what I had expected and I was almost turned off from the whole kissing thing completely."

"Hopefully there was someone out there that made you reconsider?"

Nathaniel frowned. "Anders, that's a second question."

"But it goes with the first."

Moira swirled the wine left in her glass. "I don't think this is part of the rules, but I'll go ahead and indulge you. Yes, there _was_ someone who proved to me that there was something to be said about the whole thing." Nathaniel swore that Moira's eyes flickered over to him before quickly looking back down. "His father was a… friend of the family's. I was sixteen, he was eighteen."

Anders smirked. "Does this boy have a name?"

Moira opened her mouth, then closed it. "William," she finally settled on, the tops of her cheeks turning pink as she stole a glance at Nathaniel again. "He found me in my father's library. One minute we were discussing books and the next…"

Nathaniel took a deep drink from his glass and fought against the smile that tugged on his lips. She had never been a good liar, or at least she had never been able to lie successfully to him, but the other two people were too far gone to notice. _He_ knew what occasion she was talking about. Fergus had been busy touring the lands surrounding Highever with Teyrn Bryce and for lack of anything better to do in the meantime, Nathaniel had wandered the castle, stumbling across Moira reading a book in the library. He recalled that they had wound up talking about a book featuring Ser William's adventures that was a mutual favorite of theirs, and he could clearly remember the moment that he had decided to take a risk and press his lips against hers. The worst thing that could have happened was that she would have slapped him and then let her brother beat him up, but he had been amazed when she kissed him back.

"That's all well and good, but I've always wanted to know about something," Oghren said, sitting down on a bench at the opposite side of the table.

"What would that be?"

"You and Alistair. The two of you ever tap the midnight still?"

Moira's brow furrowed in confusion before the dwarf's words finally filtered into her brain. "Tapped the…" she paused, thinking the schematics out, and then laughed out loud. She hugged her ribs and slapped her hand against the tabletop. "I can honestly say that I have never tapped _anything_ with Alistair," she finally said, still giggling as she wiped tears away from the corner of her eye.

"Not even with the whole end of the world business? Not wanting to die without one last boot knocking?"

"You have the oddest way with words," Nathaniel commented, pouring himself another glass. He had no right to, but he quickly found himself jealous of Ferelden's king. He drained his glass in one swallow.

"Please," Moira said. "Don't get him started. I think at one time he had a whole list of euphemisms thought out." She leaned against Nathaniel and whispered conspiratorially. "_Forging the moaning statue_ has always been a personal favorite of mine."

Oghren harrumphed. "Better than licking lampposts, I bet."

She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "You _heard_ that one?"

Game forgotten, Nathaniel turned towards Moira. "Now _that_ sounds like there's a story attached."

Moira's face was quite red now, and Nathaniel guessed that it had nothing to do with the wine. "Well," she started, tracing the wood grain on the table with a fingernail. "One night while we were on watch, Alistair and I got to talking. I can't exactly remember how the subject came up, but I asked him if he'd ever…" she gestured with her hands. "_You know_, and the lamppost reference was born."

"And _had_ he?" Nathaniel asked, glancing at the table. It was a shame that Anders had already passed out; he was missing the best part of the evening.

"I'm not at liberty to say," Moira said, sitting up and looking as prim as a person who was more than slightly tipsy could look. "Who knows what might make it into the Royal Biography. The only thing I can say about that conversation was that he asked me the same question and I told him that yes, I had indeed licked a lamppost in winter once."

"Always knew you were a saucy little minx," Oghren chortled. "So, who was the lucky guy?"

"William," she said again. "He made quite an impression on me when we shared our first kiss, so I decided to keep him around. I was eighteen." She closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. It had happened the evening before Nathaniel had been scheduled to leave and she had snuck into his bedroom. The memory of that night and the way that his hands and lips had skimmed across her body in an almost reverent fashion was enough to make her breath hitch. The fact that Nathaniel was sitting so close that she could feel the warmth from his body didn't do a thing for her composure.

"Are you all right?" Nathaniel asked, reaching out and touching her elbow.

"I'm fine," she told him. She finally had an opening to leave before she said anything more revealing she'd regret in the morning. "I think I might have to have to call it an evening." She stood up from the bench and had to catch herself on the table when the room decided to sway perilously.

"Perhaps I should walk you back to your room," Nathaniel offered, standing up as well.

"The two of you are a bunch of lightweights," Oghren said, reaching out and drinking straight from the bottle of wine. He looked pointedly at Anders, who was now snoring softly atop the table. "And this one is the worst."

Moira laughed as she and Nathaniel walked away. They didn't say anything until they were standing in front of Moira's bedroom. "Thank you for walking me back," she said, leaning against the closed door.

"It was my pleasure." He knew in the back of his mind that he probably shouldn't say anything more, but the wine had addled his brain enough that he didn't care. "So, this William…"

She blushed. "What of him?" She opened her door and went inside. She didn't have to turn to know that Nathaniel had followed her in, but she still jumped when she heard the door close behind them and the lock quietly catch. Her heart thumped in her chest and it felt as if her skin was a size too tight, especially when she felt his breath at the back of her neck. She wished that she was in something a little more feminine besides the plain shirt and breeches she had tossed on earlier in the afternoon, but somehow she didn't think that he cared what she was wearing.

"Did you find him handsome?" Nathaniel moved until he had her cornered against a bedpost, one of his hands resting on the wood above her head. As close as he was, the faint lavender scent she always wore was making his head pleasantly spin and he could feel the warmth of her body through their clothes. Not for the first time, he was grateful that they neglected to wear armor while they were off-duty.

She turned around to face him and licked her lips, watching as his eyes focused on her mouth. "Indeed. He had the most striking eyes, and hair that I loved to run my fingers through."

"Anything else?" _I should leave,_ he thought. _I shouldn't be taking advantage of her in this state, I should be a gentleman…_ All thoughts flew out of his head when she reached out and slowly slid her hands up his chest, her fingers catching on the laces to his tunic.

"The way he kissed me made me go up in flames."

He really couldn't help himself. With a low moan, he closed the small space left between them, his mouth moving hungrily over hers. Her arms linked around his neck, pulling him closer to her while his hands clutched at her hips. She tilted her head back, gasping for air while he burned a trail down her throat with his teeth and tongue before capturing her mouth again. They might have only had the one night together, but the taste of her mouth was familiar and eight years hadn't dulled his memory as to which places on her body to touch in order to make her tremble and gasp against him.

"Oh, _Nate_," she cried out, arching her back when his hand fully cupped her breast. "_Please._" It was her plea that brought him back to his senses. They had somehow made it onto the bed, his weight balanced on his elbow and her legs wrapped around his hips. She had managed to take off his shirt and the feel of her fingers against his bare skin made him shiver. Her own shirt was partially unlaced, baring a swath of soft skin and her hair was spread out like a dark sunburst against her pillow. _This_ is what he had dreamt of for weeks, but now that it was a reality, he knew that the timing was all wrong.

He groaned, carefully untangling himself from her legs and sitting on the edge of the bed. "We can't do this," he rasped, his voice caught in his throat as he raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Not now."

She stared up at the ceiling, not bothering to close her shirt so that it wouldn't expose one pale shoulder. "You don't want me." His heart sank when he saw her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"It isn't that," he whispered, leaning over her, his hands stroking her cheeks. "I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life." He lightly kissed the corner of her mouth before moving up to catch her earlobe in his teeth. Even though he knew that it would be best if he left, the idea of not touching her, even for a little while, physically hurt. "You have no idea how hard it is to be a gentleman right now, when all I want is to make love to you."

"Then don't be one," she told him, moving her head so that she could reach his mouth. He closed his eyes and momentarily gave himself over, his hands sinking into her hair to hold her in place. He should have thought to pin her arms; her dexterity picked an opportune time to come back as she deftly plucked at the laces to his trousers, cupping him through the cloth and making him groan and thrust helplessly against her hands. Lost to sensation, he bent his head and paid attention to her breast, his tongue running across the peak that strained underneath her shirt. She gave a high, keening cry and arched up towards his mouth in response, freeing one of her hands to clutch desperately at his hair almost to the point of pain. Panting, he leaned back and looked down at her face. Her lips were swollen from his attentions, but her eyes were unfocused due to the wine.

"You won't remember this in the morning," he said, kissing her forehead before getting up and starting towards the door, stopping only to retrieve his fallen shirt. "When we do finish this, and we _will_, I want us both to be able to recall everything." He was going to say something else, but he noticed that Moira's eyes had already slid closed and her breathing was deep and even. Sighing, he grabbed a thin blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it over her, his fingers gently combing her hair out of her face before walking out, silently shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Moira moaned at the way the morning sunlight filtered into her bedroom window. Her head ached as if an ogre had just finished stomping on top of her skull and she had an unpleasant taste in her mouth. Very carefully, she wiggled her way out of the previous evening's clothing and slipped a dress over her head before making her way downstairs to the throne room, her stomach protesting any sudden movement. Maker, but she hadn't overindulged like that since…well, since _ever_. She'd always had a weak tolerance to alcohol.

At least she wasn't the only one suffering the ill effects of the previous evening. Anders looked like something Ser Pounce-a-Lot had dragged in, his hair loose and the stubble on his jaw looking thicker than usual.

"Feeling all right, Commander?" Nathaniel appeared at her side, holding a large glass of water. Clearly, he hadn't suffered any harm from the night before, seeing as he was standing before her looking awake and alert. He pressed the glass against her hands and she gratefully took it, downing it in several gulps. "Now drink this," he said, handing her a small vial filled with something thick and dark.

"What is it?" she asked, looking at it skeptically. She took a tentative sniff, not recognizing anything except the sharp herbal scent of elfroot over the pungent odor of something else that smelled strongly of sulfur.

"The men in the Free Marches used to swear by this as a remedy for hangovers. I've never had an occasion to use it, but I have seen how quickly it works."

Moira tilted her head back and swallowed the vial's contents. "Ugh!" she coughed. "It tastes vile."

He bit back a laugh at the expression on her face. "But your head is clearing, isn't it?"

Moira blinked, realizing that her headache had already diminished in size. Something was nagging her about the night before, but she was almost afraid to ask. "Last night," she said, walking with Nathaniel to his customary spot in the corner, "I didn't do anything…odd?"

He smirked. "What? Besides stripping to your smallclothes and running about the courtyard?"

She let out an exasperated sigh at his teasing tone. "I'm serious. The evening's events are a bit of a blur, especially at the very last." She twisted her fingers together. "I didn't happen to take advantage of you, did I?"

He grinned. "I don't think it was possible for you to have managed a seduction attempt on anyone. You were having a hard enough time merely trying to stay on two feet."

"So, we didn't…" she leaned in closer to him, her eyes darting out to see if they had any onlookers paying attention. "I didn't kiss you last night?"

Nathaniel tilted his head and stared down at her. He had several choices: the first would be to tell her the truth and see what her reaction would be. His strategy for courting her had consisted of mostly compliments and small gifts, nothing overtly physical. They'd all been so keyed up with the darkspawn threat that he feared anything more would cause her to shy away, thinking that his intentions were linked to that instead of him being genuinely interested in her. The second choice would be to lie, to tell her that after walking her back to her room, he had retired to his. It had the possibility of backfiring on him, should she remember anything later on. Then there was the third option…

"Nathaniel?"

He smiled. The third choice was to slightly stretch the truth. "No, you didn't kiss me last night." That _was_ the truth; _he_ had been the one to kiss _her_, not the other way around. His eyebrow arched at the relieved sigh that slipped past her lips. She just didn't have to know about it. "The only way that would have happened would have been due to some particularly naughty dream you had."

She blushed, a nervous sounding laugh spilling from her lips. "That must have been it."

His eyes gleamed. "Then I'll consider myself flattered that I was the star of your evening." He couldn't let the opportunity pass. Stepping closer until there was hardly any room between them, he traced the outside edge of her arm with a finger. "Tell me; was it at least _enjoyable _for you?"

Moira bit her lip and wondered just when Nathaniel had gotten so bold. Besides the incident when she had given him his grandfather's bow, he normally refrained from the casual, harmless flirting that she and the other members of their group often indulged in from time to time. To be the object of such banter from him made her stomach dance in nervous knots just like it had when she was a teenager. "I think it was," she told him, her head pleasantly spinning from his close proximity and the scent of leather that always seemed to cling to him. "Although it was such a brief encounter that I'll have to revisit that dream to be certain." With that, she gave him a wink and walked towards the main dais where her seneschal was already standing, the day's paperwork in his hands. If she put a little bit more sway in her hips than usual, Nathaniel's rarely heard yet deep, appreciative chuckle was well worth it.

She felt safe enough with her back to Nathaniel to rub at the neckline of her dress. Her clothing covered it up, but while getting dressed, she had spotted a small mark right near the center of her breast. It could have come from her armor, but she couldn't remember it being there before the morning and it vaguely looked like a faint outline of teeth. Hazy memories flitted through her mind and she could have sworn that she could still feel Nathaniel's hands on her body and his mouth against hers.

_Next time, _she swore, greeting Varel and taking the papers he offered her. _I'm going to make sure that I remember. _She pressed her lips together, feeling them tingle and shot another glance towards Nathaniel. _He never could lie well to me._


	17. paradise by the dashboard light

Title: Sweet Dancer  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #15; sweet dreams  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: Anders gets it into his head to play matchmaker, not realizing that his services aren't required.  
Note: After much wibbling over the issue, I've decided to have Antiva = Italy. It was either there or Spain, but the audio translator's Italian pronunciation won me over. Any misspellings/lost-in-translations are my fault, though if anyone can give me a correct phrase where I/the free online translator went wrong, it would be greatly appreciated.

* * *

The sound of blades hitting padding dully reverberated throughout the garrison's training circle. It had been nearly two full weeks without hearing any news of darkspawn; the scouts from Amaranthine had come up empty, as did the small two-person patrols Moira had organized all the other Wardens to perform in shifts. There was something in the air, as if there was something waiting off into the distance, ready to strike once everyone let their guard down. The feeling left everyone on edge, and it seemed as if Moira took her aggression out by beating the stuffing out of training dummies.

From his vantage point in the shadows, Nathaniel watched as Moira spun on her heel, her weapon shining in the sunlight. She'd forgone her secondary blade, choosing to train with a curved knife that looked to be foreign in design. She'd also discarded her armor, fighting in a pair of snugly fitting doeskin breeches and a light blue shirt instead. Nathaniel studied her movements. He had already noticed during the course of their travels that Moira fought in a graceful style akin to a deadly dance, but he'd never seen her perform something that was obviously choreographed before. She'd positioned three of the training dummies around her in a circle, giving herself at least a two foot radius between herself and their padded arms. She took several steps, her knife hand held above her head, and then bent the upper half of her body forward as she turned, striking out hard at the dummy's unprotected ankle. Turning quickly again, she switched her grip and plunged the dagger into the dummy's chest before pirouetting to her next victim. She palmed her knife in her hand, circling the dummy before jabbing the blade deep in the back where its kidneys would have been, jerking her arm upward and spilling sawdust over the dirt circle. Still turning, she danced over to the last dummy. She didn't bother with anything fancy; she merely grabbed at the burlap sack acting as the thing's head from behind with one hand and twisted, snapping its wooden dowel neck at the same time her dagger sliced through it. Panting, Moira sheathed her dagger and knelt to pick up the fallen dummies, setting them up again, this time in a different arrangement. The third one looked rather sad with its head hanging by a string at its chest and the second one's ragged back looked like it had seen better days.

"It's awful pretty, isn't it?" Anders whispered, making Nathaniel jump slightly. "Hah, it seems like rogues aren't the only ones that can sneak up on people; I'm surprised."

"I'm going to make you wear your cat's bell collar if you keep that up," Nathaniel replied. He'd been so entranced by Moira's dance that he hadn't even noticed Anders come up. "And to answer, yes, it is incredibly pretty."

"Deadly too. Don't think I recognize the technique she's using."

Nathaniel frowned. "That is one of the many dances taught exclusively by the Antivan Crows. I had the opportunity to witness something like this during one of my scouting missions." He stroked his chin, wondering who Moira might have learned it from. "Though there had been a lot more blood and dead bodies involved." _And a lot less clothing,_ his mind supplied. He let himself indulge in a brief fantasy of Moira wearing a tightly laced bodice that enhanced the swell of her breasts yet left her midriff bare and a skirt that swirled with every movement, showing off a long expanse of toned thigh.

"I can see where your head just went," Anders said slyly, elbowing him out of his reverie. "Not that I blame you, our Commander is exceptionally lovely. I'm sure that she hears it all the time too."

"What?"

"I happen to have intimate knowledge that Arl Teagan thinks that it must be a crime somewhere for someone as beautiful as she to remain single."

"_Intimate_ meaning you happened to read one of the letters she left on her desk, I'll wager," he ground out, watching as Moira picked up a second dagger, her bare feet hardly leaving marks on the dirt as she spun in a tight circle. "Snooping isn't quite honorable, is it?"

"Actually, she told me about it. Said that she found him handsome and pleasantly charming. In fact, she told me that in the two years she was at court that they were often paired up at galas and he proved to not only be an interesting conversationalist, but also an adept dancer. Rumor is that he's still single as well."

"He's also twice her age. He's old enough to be her father." That was a lie, but Anders didn't have to know that there was only a thirteen year age gap between Moira and Teagan.

"Since when has that stopped political marriages? Just think, a Guerrin and a Cousland match would ensure that the lands from here to Redcliffe are under the same rule. If you think about it, she'd practically rule all of Ferelden too, seeing that her brother is the only remaining Teyrn and her best friend is King." Anders tapped a finger over his chin. "You know what? Forget Teagan. Queen Moira sounds particularly nice. She keeps on talking about Alistair; I feel as if I know him already. I think he's a nice enough fellow, she could do much worse for a husband."

Nathaniel blinked, realizing that he had bunched his hands into fists without knowing it. "You're trying to see if I get jealous, aren't you?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

The broad grin and hands clasped innocently behind the mage's back confirmed his suspicions. "I don't know; _are_ you?"

He scoffed. "Absolutely not. I have no reason to be."

"Oh, don't you now? And just what is going on with you and her anyway? When I asked her what the deal between you two was, all she said was that you'd worked through your differences."

"That's one way of putting it."

Anders leaned closer. "And how would _you_ put it?"

Nathaniel frowned. Clearly the man had no issues with personal space. "I…" He paused, staring at Moira. She'd thrown both of her knives into the center body mass of two different dummies and was performing a series of cartwheels towards them. His eyebrows rose; _danza delle pale rotanti_ was one of the more elaborate of the knife dances he'd witnessed over the years, usually because the joining dancers would also be armed as well. "We're friends."

"Just friends?" Anders pressed. "Or _friends_-friends?"

"I don't see how that's any business of yours." In truth, he didn't know how to respond. While he wished that they could go back to what they once had eight years before, he wasn't going to push Moira into anything. These past two weeks had been stressful as it was without him adding any pressure to jump into a relationship. He watched as she shook out her arms and took a more traditional knife fighting stance. The material of her shirt clung to the middle of her back, the fabric there just a little darker than the rest. His mind went back to his previous fantasy, thinking how beads of sweat would have slid down over her exposed skin and…

_Maker's breath, get a grip, Howe,_ he silently berated himself. _Even as an untried youth you hadn't been this easily distracted._ He figured that he hadn't been so distracted because he hadn't _known_ what had been underneath Moira Cousland's clothing at the time. Eight years might have changed some things, but surely it hadn't changed the fundamental shapes that he had memorized that night so long ago. "Why do you want to know anyway?"

Anders grinned. "Well, if you're not involved, then I was going to make a run for her myself."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "You're not her type."

"Then what's her type, hmm?"

He fumbled for words. "Not…"

"Not…?"

"Not scruffy, tall mages, that's what." He frowned again, crossing his arms in front of him.

The grin had transformed into a full-blown smirk. "So, she doesn't like tall guys? Perhaps I should go ask Oghren if there's anything going on between them instead."

"You are impossible to talk to." Nathaniel uncrossed his arms and stalked towards the weapon stand. There was another pair of daggers hanging from the pegs - it might be good to take a page out of Moira's book and vent some tension out by stabbing defenseless things with pointy objects. Besides, he needed to brush up on his knife work for times when close quarter combat nullified his bow.

"Need a sparring partner?" Moira asked, moving her hair out of her face.

"Only if you're offering." He picked out the daggers and spun one around in his hand. As was true for all the practice knives, the edges were blunted to prevent accidental stabbings between opponents. The fact that Moira had made a fine mess out of the practice models with similar blades told Nathaniel just how hard she had to have worked to get them to pierce the canvas bodies, even though her moves had all looked effortlessly easy.

She began to slowly circle him. "I wouldn't have said anything otherwise." Nathaniel patiently waited for her to make the first move before blocking it, his body remembering years of training without his brain having to tell it a single thing.

"You dance well," he said, catching her blade with both of his.

The pink that colored her cheeks wasn't from her exertions. "You were watching?" She stepped back and swept her right dagger towards his unarmored chest in a reverse grip.

"It was difficult not to. Who taught you?"

"A… friend from Antiva." Zevran had been on her mind lately. He had openly flirted with her so often in their travels that she had developed a way to ignore his more seductive come-ons. She had hoped to do the same for Nathaniel, to deflect his praise and compliments until the task at hand was completed, but it was proving impossible to do. His words were too genuine to ignore, as were the silent looks from across a room that had her heart beating almost out of her chest and the casual touches that made her want to lean into his hands far more than what was proper. One of the main reasons she was even out on the training circle in the first place was because she had been cooped up in her study, staring at the same document for nearly an hour due to daydreaming about Nathaniel. She'd gotten fed up with the dreamy smile that seemed to be frozen on her face and had decided to work out some frustration. When she fought, all other thoughts emptied out of her head and for the first time in weeks, she'd been able to ignore the ghostly imprint of teeth at her neck or the memory of the taste of him on her lips.

Unfortunately, the training models took the brunt of her aggression; she'd left several in tatters.

Nathaniel lunged towards her, but she deftly darted out of his reach. "You move quite gracefully."

Zevran had stayed on at the palace long enough for her to master several of the many knife dances the Crows had invented. She had been aware of their deadly endings, but to see Zevran perform had been breathtaking. It had taken months of constant practice, but he had finally nodded his head in approval. _And to think,_ he had said, _if this were Antiva, one of the Grand Masters would have appointed you an official Crow right about now. Then again, you would have had to have killed at least five of your fellow initiates with that last dance, so it is a good thing we are not in Antiva, yes?_ "I'm out of practice," she replied, pivoting to avoid his left attack. She used his momentum to shove him to the side and away from her, but hadn't counted on his fast reflexes. Quicker than she could blink, Nathaniel turned her defensive move into an offensive one, enveloping her in a restraining hold that immobilized her arms.

"Could have fooled me," he told her, breathing heavily from their fight. _No,_ he thought, _Anders is definitely not her type. She'd wind up killing him within a week._ His arms tightened around her and she couldn't stop herself from melting into the hug, her body relaxing against his. "Do you yield?"

She turned her head, not surprised one bit that his mouth was now inches away from hers. "Best of three?" she asked, wanting nothing more than to rock herself up on the balls of her feet to close the gap between them. She didn't, and he let her go, stepping far enough away so that he could circle her this time.

Anders, for his part, merely leaned against the garrison wall and stared at the two fighters. He entertained himself by conjuring up a heart shaped ball of flame at his fingertips before shaking it out and doing the same with a ball of ice. "Merely friends, my foot," he said, shaking his head. He looked down to where Ser Pounce-a-Lot had wound his way around his ankles. "It looks as if our services won't be needed after all, Pounce." And here he had been looking forward to giving both Moira and Nathaniel none-too-subtle hints that the other was interested. Matching them together would have been so much fun, but… He refrained from using lightning, seeing that the crackle of electricity put Pounce's fur on end. A peal of laughter had him looking back at the training ring, where both Wardens were now attacking the other seriously.

"Oh well," he said, stooping down to pick up the kitten. Ser Pounce-a-Lot purred and made himself comfortable in Anders' arms. "Watching the two of them bumble around the whole relationship process is just as entertaining."


	18. wicked game

Title: Wicked Game  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #29; silhouette  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: Nathaniel has a rather unorthodox way of teaching shadow skills.

* * *

"What are you reading?" The question spoken so close to her ear had Moira jumping, the manuscript in her hands snapping shut.

"Nothing!" she said, trying to hide the cover in the folds of her dress. It had been such a nice day that she had decided to take a break and spend the afternoon reading in one of the inner courtyard gardens. The roses were in full bloom, their perfume creating a pleasant atmosphere. "We're going to have to institute a new rule: no sneaking on others while off-duty."

Nathaniel smirked as he sat on the stone bench beside her, his head craned to try and read the title on the spine peeking out from under her sleeve. "It's too thin to be one of those tawdry Orlesian romance novels my sister was so fond of reading," he teased, his mouth working into a mischievous smile when Moira swatted his hands away. "And it's too thick to be a letter that you'd get this worked up over me spying." He bumped his shoulder against hers, grinning when her cheeks turned a bright scarlet. "_Is_ it a letter? Wait, don't tell me; it's a passionate love missive from the king of Ferelden."

She laughed. "The only way any letter from Alistair would be passionate in nature would be if he waxed poetic on a new shipment of cheeses. If you really must know," she sighed and pulled the manuscript out. "It is a training manual. Yuriah had them for sale."

"It's a little thin to be a full training guide on the shadow arts," Nathaniel mused, thumbing through the pages. "If you really wanted to learn, you could have just asked me."

She smoothed an invisible wrinkle out of her skirt. "Well, I wanted to know the basics before I did."

"I should have thought to teach you earlier. Your attack style tends to be…"

"Stealthy?"

He snorted. "I was going to say a full-frontal assault with a bit of flanking action, but we'll go with your description if it pleases you."

She harrumphed. "I am too stealthy."

"Yes, when sneaking around undetected, picking locks or locating traps, I'll give you that. Unfortunately, when facing darkspawn, you tend to meet them head on. Blending into the shadows might make your job a little bit easier." Not to mention that certain shadow skills made enemies lose interest in their target, which would take a load off of Nathaniel's mind. Every time Moira waded into the thick of a group of enemies, his breath always caught in his throat at the idea that she was taking on more than she could possibly handle by herself. Standing up, he held his hands out to her. "Now, what exactly do you know about the shadow arts?"

"I know that they're an extension of stealth skills."

"Yes. And like stealth, blending into the shadows depends on the skill level of the user." Reaching out, he brushed his fingers over her eyes. "Keep your eyes closed until I say otherwise."

Moira's ears picked up the sound of his boots crunching on the gravel pathway. It seemed that he was deliberately being loud in order for her to try to pinpoint his location by sound alone. Her head turned to the right where Nathaniel's heel made a particularly loud snapping sound in the gravel.

"Open your eyes," he said, his voice confirming where she thought he'd be. Moira blinked and turned around so that she could face him.

Except that he wasn't there.

"Nate?" She automatically looked for any shadows that he might have hidden himself in, but saw that the center of the courtyard was in full sun. Slowly turning on her heel, she scanned the area, her eyes darting around.

"Oh, like I'm supposed to make this easy for you," he teased, his voice coming from her left. Quickly spinning around, she thought she caught a darker looking silhouette by the garden's entrance.

"I'd say you weren't making it difficult enough," she said triumphantly, going towards him. "Tag, you're it," she crowed, tapping him on the shoulder.

Or she would have, if her hand hadn't gone right through.

"You were saying?" Nathaniel asked, his voice at her ear. She jumped when his hands settled on her shoulders.

"A decoy, I should have known." She pushed her hair out of her face and turned to face him. "So, have you finished showing off?"

He tilted his head. "For the time being. As I was saying, the user's skill level determines the success rate of your shadow talents. We'll start with the easiest and most important one, the shadow form." He led her towards the deeper shadows underneath the archway. "Truthfully, this time of day isn't the best to begin practicing, but at least we can see just where you might need work better than at night. First of all, show me your stealth mode." He had heard Oghren and her go on and on about how sneaky she was capable of being, but he'd never actually seen it firsthand. True, she was silent and quick on her feet, but it would take a little bit more that just that if she wanted to master the moves he was willing to teach her.

Moira took a breath and held it. Leliana had taught her how to move undetected, and she'd had a lot of practice in Denerim trying to avoid guards and well-meaning folk who wanted to see the Hero of Ferelden. She slowly let the air out of her lungs and drew it back in, breathing shallowly so she wouldn't give up her position. Sticking against the garden's walls, she made sure her slippers didn't make a noise on the gravel.

"Nice," Nathaniel said, looking around the garden. "I would have never noticed you if I hadn't been watching the entire time."

"So, am I a suitable enough student?" she asked, coming back to where he was standing.

He smiled. "Quite. The secret to the shadow form is to attempt to blend in with the darkness around you. Find the shadows and meld with them, like so." His expression didn't change, but one moment he was there in front of Moira and the next he wasn't. "The trick is to control your breathing," he said, reappearing. "Now, you try."

Moira stared at the shadows around them. Concentrating, she slid into her stealth position and thought about what she wanted to do. "Did it work?" she asked after a while.

He shook his head. "Not quite. Try it again."

They went back and forth for almost an hour before Moira gave up. "I don't know what's wrong," she said, slumping down on the bench. "I'm doing everything you're telling me."

Nathaniel rubbed his chin and frowned, thinking about what his own instructors might have said. "I think the problem is with your breathing," he told her. "Are you certain you're doing it shallowly enough?"

She let out an unladylike snort. "You put on a corset and then ask if I'm breathing shallowly enough," she quipped, gesturing towards the tightly laced bodice she was wearing. She stood up and shook out her hands, ready to try again. Taking as deep of a breath as possible, she let it out on a stuttering sigh when Nathaniel's arms went around her.

"Let's try this again," he murmured, one hand going to her hip while the other settled warmly at her sternum, his fingers fitting between her breasts. The hand at her hip tightened, bringing her back flush to his front so that she was able to feel the rise and fall of his chest. "Mimic my breathing." While this wasn't _exactly_ how his instructor had taught him, it was the easiest way to demonstrate. _And admit it,_ he thought, _having her in your arms isn't such a hardship, now is it?_

Moira swallowed hard and tried to find her balance. Reaching out, she put a steadying hand against the side of Nathaniel's right thigh. "Your heart is racing," he told her, his lips grazing the curve of her ear. He smiled when he felt her pulse jump against his palm. "Try to relax."

She tried to think of something witty to reply with, but all her thoughts had scattered and it was impossible to retrieve them. She settled with a strangled '_hrm_' noise instead, which made Nathaniel quietly chuckle, the vibration going all the way down her spine. Closing her eyes, she tried to block everything out, concentrating on feeling his chest move against her back. Gradually, she felt her breathing match his.

Nathaniel relaxed against her. While he had initially chosen this position as a way to flirt with Moira, the atmosphere had rapidly changed to something deeper, more intimate than he had anticipated. Their heartbeats slowed down and mirrored the other until he wasn't sure which one was his any longer. Her head lolled to the side to rest against his chest and it felt right for him to put his chin on her shoulder, filling the space she had created. The hand she had braced on his leg moved until her fingers laced with his at her hip. The attraction he felt whenever he thought about her was certainly present, but instead of the sharp bite of desire, he felt something quieter, like a flame that had been carefully banked instead of being allowed to quickly burn out of control. The feeling was new to him and he embraced it, deciding to savor the moment as long as possible.

As much as he hated to, Nathaniel carefully stepped away after a while. "Congratulations," he said, his voice sounding far too loud in the silent garden. "I do believe you've mastered the shadow form."

Moira looked down at herself, noting the way that shadows had clung to her body. "I wouldn't say that for certain," she told him, stepping out of the shadows. "I mean, darkspawn aren't exactly going to wait around until I get my breath under control, now are they?"

His mouth twisted upwards. "You do have a point. Perhaps we should start practicing in the evenings? As I said, this light isn't the most ideal to train in."

"I'd like that." Her hip still tingled where his hand had been. "Didn't you say you wanted to learn the dualist technique a while back?"

He nodded. "I did. Are you suggesting that you teach it to me in return?"

She winked at him. "It depends. How good are you at playing Wicked Grace?"


	19. tupelo honey

Title: Tupelo Honey  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #1; hazel eyes  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: She was twenty-six. Surely she was old enough to progress past the stage of giggling while asking boys if they thought she was pretty.  
Note: I must be channeling _The Princess Bride_, because every time I think of Nathaniel in regular clothes now, I see him wearing Inigo's costume. Unfortunately, there will not be a scene in this story where he goes "Hello. My name is Nathaniel Howe. You killed my father, prepare to die." That would sort of ruin the whole Nathaniel/Moira dynamic just a little bit.

* * *

"A bit for your thoughts."

Moira looked up from the dagger she was sharpening. "Hm?"

Nathaniel put the arrow he had been fletching in a pile with all the others he had recently finished. "You've been distracted all day. Is everything all right?" They'd decided to spend their evening in the armory, making an inventory of what weapons were housed there. Nathaniel shook his head; so many of the better weapons had been looted – his favorite longsword among those missing. What had been left were either dull edged or of poor quality. The pieces that Moira had brought along with her during her travels made the walls look a little less empty, and the magical buzzing from various enchantments was almost familiar.

"Yes, everything's fine," she assured him, testing the edge of the blade with her thumb. The balance was good and the blade would work well for a throwing knife instead of something that she'd ordinarily use for close quarters combat. "I'm just thinking."

"About?" He carved a groove on the end of an arrow shaft and proceeded to attach a barbed arrowhead to the end.

Her cheeks turned a faint shade of pink and she shook her head. "Nothing. It's stupid, really."

"It can't be that stupid if you've spent this much time thinking about it." He covertly glanced at her as he worked, noticing that she was biting her lip yet again, which was a clear sign that whatever she was thinking about was bothering her.

She sighed. "I just didn't realize how important titles were to me."

He arched an eyebrow. "Well, Warden-Commander is a pretty impressive one."

She frowned. "And the one that's been bothering me."

"How so?"

"Ever since I've arrived in Amaranthine, it's been _Commander this_ and _Commander that_. Everyone calls me Commander, even you."

"But that's who you are." His brow furrowed. Somehow he felt as if this was one of those Girl Things that Fergus had often lamented about and he was doomed to say the wrong thing, no matter how good his intentions were. "You are our leader and should be given the respect that your status deserves." And besides, every time that he did call her by her given name, someone in their group would look at him oddly, like he had committed an unforgivable sin – or in Anders' case, that he had let slip feelings that were best left hidden.

He might act as a glib and carefree mage, but Nathaniel had a hunch that Anders was nothing more than a softie with a romantic streak a mile wide.

She let out a bitter laugh. "Yes, because that's _all_ I am. Honestly, there are days that I wish I had let Alistair take the killing shot. Then I would have just been the Friend of the Hero of Ferelden instead." She gestured to the dark green shirt and black breeches she was wearing. "I wear armor and men's clothing so often that sometimes I forget that I'm actually a woman."

He looked incredulously at her. "You can't be serious." Even a blind man would have been able to tell that she was a female. On their own accord, his eyes roved her body, pausing at the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip. Manners deeply imbedded into his brain kept his gaze from lingering over her breasts for I_too/i_ long, his eyes going back to her face. The view was equally dangerous: underneath a thick fringe of dark lashes, brown eyes that held flecks of green in them captured his attention and her well shaped mouth threatened to draw him closer.

She spread her hands. "Like I said, it was stupid. It's just that I've been raised to believe that well-bred women didn't fight with swords, that ladies never let their skin turn brown from the sun, that wearing anything less than a dress at all times was something that was just not done." And of course at the time she had rebelled against all of that – from running around outdoors until the sun left freckles over her cheeks to challenging her father's knights to sparring matches. She thought it was incredibly ironic that when she was younger, she couldn't wait to shed the restrictive dresses her station as the Teyrn's daughter had her wear in favor of the freer flowing men's clothing and armor that she trained in. Now she wanted the exact opposite.

"It's the _my lady_ that I think I miss the most," she confessed, putting aside her whetstone. "Since the Blight ended, it's almost as if I've stopped being me and have become an icon, a living legend. I don't like it."

"Such is the price one has to pay when they save the kingdom," he commented.

"I know, and I am grateful that I was able to help, I really am, but…" she wrung her hands. "This sounds completely shallow, but I wish that someone would look at me like I was a _woman_ for once, not a Warden, and certainly not like some mythical hero."

Nathaniel's laugh brought her head up. "If I didn't know you any better, I'd say that you were fishing for compliments," he said, going over to where she stood. "Surely a beautiful woman such as yourself wouldn't need their ego stroked."

She looked up at him and hugged her arms. "You think I'm beautiful?" she asked, her eyes wide.

He looked away. "I…" He cleared his throat. "You have to know that you're pretty. Everyone says so." Inwardly, he cringed. _Maker, I was better at this when I had been_ _eighteen._

"But I asked if _you _thought that I was." It was entirely different than hearing Teagan or Zevran hand out compliments. Arl Teagan said that she was lovely looking almost as a reflex, courtly protocol so completely imbedded into his being that such words were as natural as breathing to him. And Zevran didn't actually count; he'd flirted outrageously with anything that had a pair of breasts during their travels that anything he said could never be taken seriously. It was suddenly very important to her to know what Nathaniel thought.

He stared into those hazel eyes of hers and swallowed the knot that had formed in his throat. "I never chased after a single woman while I was away," he told her. "Do you know why?" They had become familiar over the course of the last month, and he felt that he could admit at least a few of his feelings where she was involved without risking her shying away any longer.

"Why?" Her voice was tiny, even to her ears.

He reached out and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. "None of them were you."

The honest statement coupled with the serious look on his face took her breath away. "Oh, Nate," she breathed, her knees dangerously close to wobbling.

"I'd like you to know that the same thing applies now as well."

Moira blinked and tried not to shiver at the low way he had pitched his voice. She swallowed hard, trying desperately to gather her wits about her. "If that's true, then why do you heckle Velanna so?"

He blinked, momentarily thrown by the shift in topics. "I, as you put it, heckle Velanna because she makes herself an easy target for teasing. It's entertaining to get under her skin at times."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you admired her." The Dalish mage was attractive, even if she was just as prickly, if not more so, than Morrigan had ever been. Moira knew that she didn't have a claim on Nathaniel any longer, but it never kept the enormous pangs of jealousy at bay whenever she overheard them talk together. "She's quite pretty."

By a tremendous amount of willpower, he managed not to laugh at her tone. "If you were anyone else, I'd say that you were jealous," he gave her a lopsided smile that made her heart do a funny flip in her chest. "There is a great difference between teasing and admiring. I may tease her, but if there's anyone here that I admire, it would be you." He put a finger against her lips when she opened her mouth to reply. "And before you ask again, _yes_, I do think you are beautiful, my lady." He trailed his hand down to her arm. Slowly, he brought her hand up to his lips, looking her in the eye the entire time.

_I think my wish was just granted,_ Moira thought breathlessly, watching as Nathaniel's eyes wandered over her body, his mouth quirking appreciatively against her knuckles. The way he was staring at her left no doubt in her mind that he saw her as anything less than a woman. If he put any more heat into his gaze, she feared that her clothes would catch fire.

Her brain caught up with her racing heart, finally noting that he had put emphasis on the word _my_ when he called her his lady. Habit had her worrying at her bottom lip, but she stopped when she heard him softly groan.

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" he asked, letting go of her hand so that he could put both of his hands on her waist, his nose softly bumping against hers.

"Not intentionally," she told him, her fingers tracing the edge of his vest. "Though I could ask the same of you."

The chuckle that he gave her made her toes curl inside her boots. "Would you believe me if I said that I never anticipated this conversation to happen here?"

She drew in a breath when she felt his lips at her temple. "I might, but you're definitely taking advantage of the opportunity."

The look he gave her made the previous one seem tame. "Moira, if I were to truly take advantage of the situation, you would definitely know." He pressed a kiss to her forehead before stepping away. "But I happen to think of myself as an intelligent man. I wouldn't press my advantage in a room filled with sharp objects within easy reach." He went back to where he had left his stash of unfinished arrows and gathered them up.

Moira blinked, dragging herself out of the daze Nathaniel had easily put her under. "We should get going," she said, clearing her throat. She picked up the box of throwing blades and tucked it under her arm. "It's our turn to go on patrol."

Nathaniel shouldered his quiver. Smirking, he held the armory door open for her. "As you wish."


	20. quasimodo

Title: Quasimodo  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #30; hug!  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: Being the leader is not all sunshine and puppies.  
Note: I know this was supposed to happen in-game a lot sooner than this, but I kinda pushed it back a little.

* * *

He found her pacing on top of the battlements, one arm wrapped protectively around her middle, the other holding up the necklace she almost always wore. She was staring at the mirrored back as if she'd find answers to whatever questions she had, her mouth drawn into a tense, thin line. In the torchlight, Nathaniel could see that her armor was still as stained with darkspawn blood just as his own was.

"You handled that well," he said, leaning against the wall. They'd just returned to the Keep after encountering a large pocket of enemies when their party had been confronted by a mob of angry citizens demanding their fair share of grain. Moira had been worn out, but Nathaniel noted that she had still managed to carry herself with her usual amount of grace and poise, quietly dispersing the would-be mob before it could truly form.

"Did I?" She let the necklace settle back against her skin and crossed her arms. "There was almost a riot in the courtyard."

"But you put a stop to it before it even began."

She frowned. "Those people should have never even had a reason to gather in the first place. All they wanted was grain; why weren't the granaries opened sooner?" She thought back to Alec, the shepherd who she'd conscripted into the army when he was caught stealing food for his family. "These poor people are starving."

Nathaniel went up to her and carefully pried her hands away from her arms. "There's not much you can do," he told her, his hands uncurling her fingers from the fists she clenched them in.

"I am their _Arlessa_, for Andraste's sake. There is _plenty_ that I could have done." Anger flashed in her eyes and Nathaniel knew from experience that it was directed towards herself.

"Ah, yes. Because you could control two growing seasons since the Blight ended. Or, since you've only recently become Arlessa that means that you're instantly able to make the lands fertile or control the rain for this season alone." He rubbed his thumbs against the backs of her hands. "Tell me, have you the power to magically fill the grain silos by merely waving your hand? If you do, then you've cleverly hidden that ability from everyone."

Moira sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "You know how to pull the wind out of a good temper tantrum, don't you?"

He shrugged. "It's one of my many talents." Settling his hands on her shoulders, he held her out at arm's length. "You have been doing as much as you possibly can with the few resources you have at your disposal. Look what you've done in as little as two months: trade is starting to flow again, the farms are guarded from darkspawn, there are previously undiscovered ore deposits at hand, and you're upgrading the Keep's walls, which has been needed for generations."

"It's just that I wish I could do more for people," she told him. "I feel so powerless." She'd had many a sleepless night since coming to Vigil's Keep. If dreams of darkspawn didn't keep her awake, the images of hungry children did, their cheeks hallowed out as they begged for food, their skeletal hands holding onto her skirts.

Nathaniel tugged her towards him, his arms going around her. "You put too much on yourself sometimes," he said, his cheek against her hair. He ran his hands down her back in soothing circles. "You don't always have to play the hero, you know."

"I know. It's just that after spending so long fixing other people's problems while I traveled, I don't know how else to act now." She wrapped her arms around his waist and settled comfortably in his arms. "Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but what was this for?"

"You gave me one the night Adria died; I thought I'd return the favor." He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Besides, you looked like you needed it." And just like she had told him that night, Nathaniel hated to see Moira unhappy.

"It could have been much worse," she confessed, sighing when his fingers worked at a knot in her shoulders. "There might have been bloodshed."

"You're right. And now that the farmers have had their say, you've proven to everyone that you're willing to listen to conflicts fairly and deal with them in a just fashion. You've also sent troops out to protect their lands, which goes a long way in developing their trust."

"What would you have done differently?" Hearing Nathaniel try to cheer her on just made her more aware that he should have been in charge instead of her. He had, after all, spent his childhood and subsequent early adulthood being trained to take over the arling. He knew these people far better than she did. Moira often found herself looking to him for advice before she went to Varel, which suddenly reminded her of what Alistair used to do with her in those early days.

"Nothing. Having the guard try to calm the crowd down would have only incited tempers and giving out seemingly empty promises would have done the same. You did the right thing."

She hugged him tighter. "Thank you. You don't know how much I appreciate that."

Her admission shouldn't have made his heart swell as much as it had. "Well, my lady, what are we going to do next?"

"I can write to the Bannorn, ask for aid," she mused, her hand resting on his chest. "With Alistair there now, he might be able to help out." The area had quickly bounced back from the Blight, and weather had been favorable for growing crops. If she recalled correctly from the reports at the palace, there was a surplus of produce to be had. Perhaps she could trade food for resources, or get with Mistress Woolsey and see if they had any money in their coffers to spend on purchasing what they needed outright. There were also the supplies at the Keep. Surely they didn't need all of what was in their vast larders – she could organize a party to distribute the extras to the Chantry. She knew that if she paid too much attention to the farmlands and not enough to Amaranthine, she might have yet another riot on her hands at a later date. Highever might be another option. She didn't know the exact numbers in the brother's grain stores, but it wouldn't hurt to ask and see if he could spare anything. While the castle had been taken over two years ago, the town below had been left relatively intact. Hopefully Fergus would have things to spare. She was reluctant to ask for guards instead of food, seeing as the number of soldiers under his employ was almost as low as hers.

"You're thinking," Nathaniel accused, tapping at her temple with his index finger. "Care to elaborate?"

"Nothing quite yet," she admitted. "I'm just thinking that it is taking considerably more work rebuilding Ferelden from the Blight than it had in saving it. You would think that it would have been the other way around instead."

"That's because you can't whack protesters with pointy objects," Nathaniel said, stepping away. "Come on, let's get down from here. It looks like it might rain." He started towards the stairway leading back down to the lower levels of the Keep, but Moira's hand on his arm stopped him.

"I meant what I said, Nathaniel," she told him. "I don't think I could have done any of this without you. Thank you for being here."

He gave her a crooked grin and held onto her hand. "What can I say? We make a good team."

She looked up at him, the smile on her face reminding him of the ones she used to give him so long ago, warming him from the inside out. "That we do."


	21. slip slidin away

Title: Slip Slidin' Away  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #3; snap snap!, photograph  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: Some skeletons are meant to stay in closets. Nathaniel also has Daddy Issues.

* * *

"Do you know what this goes to?" Moira asked, holding out a key. Nathaniel looked up from the book he had been reading, noting that her hair and her plain work clothes were covered in dust.

"What have you been doing?" he asked her, reaching out and brushing a cobweb away from her shoulder. "And what was our rule about no sneaking?" Even as dusty as she was, she had managed to come up behind him without him noticing.

She smiled unapologetically. "Sorry, habit. But to answer your question, I've been cleaning."

"I can see that. And just where did you manage to get so filthy, milady dust bunny? "

Moira sat down beside him, her fingers brushing off a bit of dirt from her tunic. "Your father's study." The room had been sealed for the better part of two years, and it had shown. During the first months of Alistair's reign, he had ordered that nothing of Rendon's personal papers there be touched until either he or Moira had a chance to go through them personally. After a while more important matters, such as caring for the shell shocked people of Ferelden and rebuilding lost cities like Lothering, took precedence and the task was forgotten. Moira had been using the Nathaniel's mother's sitting room as her office, but while the wall of windows let in a considerable amount of sunlight and made for a cheerful area to curl up with a book, it was a tad bit impractical for someone who had a death threat on their head. The many windows provided archers with too many opportunities to strike.

And as much as she was dreading it, she realized that Rendon's study was the perfect spot to use as an office, which was probably what the original owners of Vigil's Keep had intended it for. While the two thin windows didn't offer much in the way of light, at least they let a decent breeze blow in when the glass was opened and were on a side protected by the interior courtyard. The layout of the room was long and narrow and offered little in the way of hiding spots for assassins: a large fireplace and mantel took up one of the shorter walls. Two high backed chairs were situated near the hearth, their dark hunter green fabric worn from the generations of Howes who sat in them. Bookshelves lined nearly the entire long wall on one side; Moira hadn't gotten around to reading their spines yet, but several of the heavier tomes looked like copies that currently resided in her own father's library. She and Mistress Woolsey had made a decent dent in clearing away two years' worth of dust. Precisely organized ledgers with Amaranthine's finances had been found, which gave them both a better idea of how the money in the treasury had been used. Before then, they had spent many an evening prioritizing uses and it was rewarding to see that their guesses had been correct. It was also interesting to see where their guesses had differed and Mistress Woolsey's eyes had glittered with the idea of comparing notes and seeing if their budget would save the arling money to use for future projects later on.

Moira had to admit it, when she first found out that the Wardens had sent her a treasurer instead of more Wardens, she had been disappointed. Yet Mistress Woolsey was proving to be a force to be reckoned with. The woman had a fearless way of cutting through red tape and slashing away frivolous spending that was on the same level as anyone that Moira had ever fought alongside of. If anything, her presence here at the Keep was going to help rebuild the arling back to the prosperous shipping community it had once been.

"I hadn't known it was that bad," Nathaniel noted, picking out another wad of cobweb from the back of Moira's hair. He looked at the key in her hand. "That goes to my father's safe."

She frowned. "I haven't found anything that even remotely looks like a safe yet."

He grinned. Standing up, he pulled on her hands until she was on her feet as well. "That's because you didn't know where to look. Come on, I'll show you."

His father's study was just as he remembered it. He could remember that as a child he had often sat near the fireplace, reading book after book while his father worked at his desk. _One day, my son,_ his father had often said, _all of this will be yours._ Even at a young age, Rendon had sat Nathaniel on his lap, explaining just what the little numbers in each of the ledgers he kept meant and how important it was to distribute them equally between everything. "Here," Nathaniel said, shaking himself out of his memories. He went over to the long wall that housed portraits of the previous Arls and took his father's frame off the wall. "The safe is always behind the current Arl's portrait," he explained. "We're going to have to move everyone down to make room for yours, once things quiet down."

"I hadn't even thought to look here," Moira said, examining the back of the picture's frame. The backs of each frame were thicker than the front and painted to match the existing stone, making it impossible at first glance to see that they were covering up anything.

Nathaniel fit the key into the lock and listened as it clicked open. "There's something in here," he said, reaching into the safe to retrieve its contents. "Something that I wasn't expecting."

"Do you know what's inside there?" Moira looked over his arm. The safe wasn't very large: it was probably a square hole cut into the stone about two feet all around, so it couldn't contain much.

"I know for sure that we'll find the deed to the lands of Amaranthine, a box of the most expensive Howe family gems, as well as several important correspondences from your family to mine. But this," he pulled out a thick envelope. "This has me stumped."

Moira had already taken the rest of the safe's items back to the desk in order to inventory them. "Go ahead and open it," she said over her shoulder. "Between the two of us, you have a right to read it first."

Nathaniel frowned when he saw his father's bold script stare at him. "It looks to be a letter to Teyrn Loghain," he said, reading the first few paragraphs. Still reading, he walked to the desk and absently sat in the chair. The smell of polishing wax and leather surrounded him, just like it had when he was a child. "I can't believe this."

"What is it?" Moira leaned back on the desk, her right knee touching his.

He shook his head. "I…this is from five years ago." His forehead furrowed in disbelief. "Even that long ago, Father was planning on betraying everyone." He handed her the first page of the letter and continued reading.

Moira looked up from reading when she saw Nathaniel's face contort in fury. "Do I even want to know?" she asked tentatively, putting her portion of the letter aside.

"Would you believe me if I told you that I'd been engaged to someone for eight years without even knowing it?" he bit out, his fingers tightening on the heavy paper.

"_What? _To _whom_?" For a moment she thought that perhaps Rendon _had_ known about them and was prepared to speak to her father about drawing up a marriage contract.

The sharp bark of laughter he gave out was completely humorless and killed the hope that had briefly bloomed in her breast. "To Anora Mac Tir, of all people."

"But that's…" She shook her head. "She'd been married to Cailan at the time your father wrote this." Moira felt as if her breath had been knocked out of her and she leaned heavier on the desk, her mind frantically trying to process _Nathaniel was betrothed_ and _they meant to make him king_ and _he wasn't ever mine._

"It gets worse," he said, reading further, his nostrils flaring in anger. "It seems that you were promised to my brother."

"To _Thomas_?" Sure, she had thought it odd that Rendon would always mention his youngest son whenever they spoke, but she'd _never_ seen him as a potential match for her.

His reply was sharp and bitter. "Do you know of any _other_ brother I might have?" He set the letter aside and took a breath, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to bite at you. You do realize what this means, right?"

She nodded. "That even before the Blight, both Rendon and Loghain had conspired to take the throne from Cailan. It's common knowledge amongst the nobility that Anora was the one ruling the kingdom instead of the other way, and it looked like your father was doing his best to set you up as the next king." That sounded so surreal to say. "He sent you away…"

"To broaden my political horizons," Nathaniel finished, sneering at the papers before throwing them across the desk. "The knight who housed me was one of the more influential people in the Free Marches. He spent many hours tutoring me in the ways of rules and regulations. At first, I thought that was what all young men who squired under him were put through, but now it makes much more sense." He ran his hand down his face. "Maker, but Thomas was right. I should have listened to him."

"What do you mean?"

He frowned. "Thomas came to me when Mother left Amaranthine years ago. He was drinking at the time, and I dismissed his warnings as merely drunken rambling." Now it made sense to him. "He said that he had overheard Father speaking to someone about him inheriting the arling."

_I'm so sorry, Nathaniel. I'm so sorry that it all has to come about this way._

"He spoke highly of you, that last time in Denerim," Moira said quietly. "He told me that he hadn't known the extent of his father's plans, that if he had, he would have tried his best to put a stop to them."

Nathaniel's frown deepened. "He would have gotten himself killed, that's what he would have done. No, _I_ should have thought something was amiss. I should have come home that very instant to see things with my own eyes."

"It's no use blaming yourself. How could you have known what your father was planning? Rendon was clever; he hid his deception from those that knew him the best. It would have been easy for him to deceive you as well." Moira picked up the rest of the letter, scanning it quickly to see if her father's name was mentioned. Her breath caught at a paragraph with her father's name in it; it was a vague threat, but clear enough to tell her that Rendon had intended on killing the entire Cousland family as long as five years ago. _We'll invite Moira to the Keep to visit Delilah,_ the letter read. _It won't take much to convince her that someone else had done the deed – perhaps an uprising in Highever's alienage will be enough. _"I'd have been so grief stricken that I would have believed any lie he thought up," she muttered, setting the papers aside and covering her mouth with her hands.

"This plan of his wouldn't have worked," Nathaniel told her gripping the chair's armrests until his knuckles turned white. "I would have found out eventually and then had the power to bring him and Loghain to justice."

"Don't you understand? He _knew_ that. With you as King, Delilah married off to a suitable Bann, and Thomas poised act as Amaranthine's Arl – as well as wedded to the last of the Couslands, who were politically influential in their own right – he knew that even if he should be sentenced to death for his crimes, his children and his lands would be well taken care of."

"And if I hadn't put two and two together, he would have molded me into whatever he wished, ruling with Loghain from behind the scenes while Anora and I played our parts." He frowned. "He would have turned me into an exact copy of him."

"He wouldn't have been able to."

"No? What makes you think that he hasn't already?"

"Because you are a good man, Nathaniel. You see when things are wrong and do your best to set them to rights. You've always been that way, as long as I've known you. If your father would have changed that, I would have known." She bit her lip and looked away, trying to find how to word the thoughts that were flying around her head. "I think that your father honestly wanted what he thought was best for his children, even if the means to achieving that meant doing the things that he did."

Nathaniel stared at his father's portrait, trying to find some answers that made sense. "Of all the people to defend him, I never thought that you would."

She shook her head. "I'm not defending his actions, Nate. I'm…"

"You're what?" He felt like he had to do _something_. The room that had once offered so much comfort to him in his youth was now stifling and claustrophobic.

She cupped the sides of his face with her hands. "You said that he once had a good side. I guess what I'm trying to do is to protect that memory from being eaten away by what you're feeling now. Everyone should be able to think fondly on their parents, no matter what their deeds."

Nathaniel closed his eyes. It was hard, but he took the memories of the father who had scooped his children up on his shoulders for rides, who read stories to them at bedtime and tucked it safely away from everything that he had learned since coming back so that his actions wouldn't taint the little boy Nathaniel had once been or the admiration he had once felt. _Draw the bowstring back like this._ He could all but feel his father's hands on his arms as he had showed him the proper stance when he had been presented with his first bow on his fifth name day. _Not bad for your first attempt, my boy. You will get better with practice. _The naked pride in his father's voice felt like bitter ashes on his tongue now. Reaching out, he wrapped his arms around Moira's hips and dragged her close to him so that he could rest the side of his face against her midsection. "It wouldn't have worked," he said again, his voice sounding as ragged as his emotions felt. "I would have fought him. I wouldn't have given you up as easily as he thought I would have."

Moira's breath fluttered against his hair and she bent to press a kiss to the crown of his head. "I never would have married Thomas," she told him, her hands tightening on his shoulders. "I…" _I loved you too much to give up just like that._

His hands splayed over the small of her back. "I would have given the throne over to Anora. I would have come for you." He looked up at her and said what she had been afraid to. "I loved you far too much to just conform to everyone else's wants." _And I love you still; I'm not going to let you slip away from me now._

Moira hands trembled on his shoulders and she didn't protest when he pulled her into his lap. "Give me this one time, _please_," he whispered against her lips, his hands threading through her hair at her temples. She didn't answer with words, but leaned forward to kiss him. He groaned against her mouth and held onto her as if she were a lifeline. She did the same, her fingers clutching to the back of his shirt. _If only these letters had been found sooner_, she thought, slanting her head to get at a better angle. Her family could have been warned, Nathaniel might have been called back earlier, things might have happened differently. One of them was crying: she couldn't tell who, but the taste of salt lingered on her tongue. She let her hands wander across his back, trying to give some sort of comfort even as she took what solace he offered.

She broke the kiss first, pressing her cheek against Nathaniel's. "Rivain," she said quietly against his hair.

"What?"

"We would have run off to Rivain and acted like heathens."

His hand stroked her leg, his fingers running in idle circles over her kneecap. "I was thinking Orlais. That would have _really_ stuck in Father's craw." He brushed his nose against hers. "It might be a bit closer to Ferelden, but we could have lived in sin and eaten chocolate to our hearts' content."

She laughed and tightened her arms around his chest. "It doesn't matter what that letter says," she finally said, resting her head on his shoulder. "What matters is what we're doing now."

"Do you really think I'm a good man?" The question was asked so quietly that Moira had to strain to hear.

"I don't think. I _know_." She leaned back until she could look him in the eye. "I wouldn't have agreed to spend the rest of my life with you back then if you were anything less."

He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I never got around to asking you properly." He had planned it all out, how he would have asked for her hand. He looked away. Funny, how things never worked out the way that his family planned them to.

"I would have said yes." She wanted to tell him that should he ask her now, she _still_ would say yes, but he put his index finger to her lips before she could open her mouth.

"Do what you want with the rest of the things in the safe, but burn the letter," he said, switching topics abruptly. He was so emotionally drained from the afternoon's discovery that he wasn't sure he could deal with anything more complicated, especially when it came to the relationship he was trying to cultivate with her now.

She nodded. Rendon Howe's name was already ruined. Bringing one more damning piece of evidence to light after the fact was overkill. She slid out of his lap and touched the edge of the letter to one of the flames from the candelabra standing near the desk. Holding the burning pieces of paper as long as she could, she set it into the empty fireplace and they both silently watched as the letter curled in on itself until nothing was left but a small pile of ashes.

Moira turned back to the desk. Nathaniel had slumped in the chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. _He looks like he belongs there,_ she thought. _This should have been his office._

"What now?" he asked.

"Well," Moira started, carefully picking up the items on the desk and placing them back into the wall safe. She locked it and pocketed the key. "I am going to finish cleaning this office tonight and then reward myself with a long, hot soak." She put the portrait back on the wall, tapping the edge until it sat level with the others. "And then in the morning I'm going to go into Amaranthine and see if our Ser Wolf has found any information on those conspirators."

"That wasn't what I meant," he said, folding his hands over his stomach and stacking his feet atop the desk. He'd never been allowed to do so before, so he decided to indulge his rebellious streak.

"I know it isn't," she replied, rounding the chair and draping her arms around his neck from behind. "I'd ask you to refrain from brooding, but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't find the look strangely attractive." She kissed his cheek for good measure.

He reached up and held onto her forearms. "I do not…" he paused and tilted his head up to look at her. "You find brooding attractive?"

She shrugged. "Not on everyone, but I'll make an exception for you." Her thumb rubbed against the collar of his shirt. "As I said before, we can't change what's already happened, so there isn't any sense in dwelling on it. I'd rather keep focus on events that haven't happened yet instead."

He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. "You're right." He was silent for a while before taking Moira's hand in his and bringing her knuckles up to his lips. "So, this trip that you're planning into town tomorrow. Did you want any company?"

She smiled. "I wouldn't mind. I'd thought that after my business was finished that I'd make a visit to Delilah's home. I remember that Oriana's pregnancy left her queasy the first few months into it and thought to bring your sister some ginger tea I'd just finished blending in case she was suffering the same symptoms. I'd like it if you'd come with me."

"I'd like that very much." It was the first time that he'd heard Moira talk about his sister, and he hoped that it wouldn't be the last.

"We still need to find some more information about this Colbert person Captain Garevel was talking about. And then there's the matter of the Blight Orphans and…" Moira sighed, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. "Is that offer to run off to Orlais still good?"

Standing up, he wrapped his arm around her waist. "Only if you wish to live in sin and eat chocolate every day."

She relaxed against his side. "I happen to like chocolate." Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she looked around at what was left to clean. "Although I have a feeling that Anders would kill us both for leaving him in charge."

Nathaniel laughed. "Forget killing us. He'd find a way to hide himself and that cat of his in our luggage and I_join/i_ us, leaving Oghren in control of things."

"Which would more than likely lead to hedonistic drinking parties every night, the Joining reduced to a contest as to who could chug the most darkspawn blood before passing out. Alistair wouldn't be pleased at all and we'd only have ourselves to blame." She broke away from him and grabbed her dust cloth, holding it in her hand as if it were a weapon. "I guess we have no other choice but to stay here." Moira began to dust another bookcase, but stopped when she saw Nathaniel look around.

"There are a few tapestries in storage that might look good in here," he said. "And I think that there's another rug with them. If you want, I can get them for you."

"You'd actually _want_ to help?" In her experience, the men in her life had made themselves scarce whenever the phrase 'Spring Cleaning' fell from her mother's lips.

He shrugged. "Well, if we can't run off together, the least I can do is help you out here."

She smiled at him. "You're going to get dusty." As if to prove her point, a large clump of dust drifted down from the top of the bookshelf, making her sneeze.

He wiped away a smudge of dirt from her cheek. "I think I can handle it." His eyes went towards his father's portrait again. Would his hair grey in the same pattern as he aged? Would his face have the same lines on it between his eyebrows and along the sides of his mouth? The features caught on the canvas were so much like his own that it was impossible to wonder if he would one day become his father. _No,_ he thought, the knowledge of the faith Moira had in him settling warmly in his chest. _I am nothing like you. I will be better than you, I swear._


	22. bold as love

Title: Bold As Love  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #5; collide  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: very mild PG for violence, blood, and romantical shenanigans  
Summary: Moira and Nathaniel confront assassins and resolve old feelings.  
Note: Again, I've put 100% trust in the online English-to-Italian translator. If anyone sees any mistakes in translation, please let me know. And yes, I stole the "I'll feed them to darkspawn" joke from Origins. Alistair wasn't using it for this playthrough anyway.

* * *

Nathaniel knew the farmhouse the people plotting Moira's assassination were using as a meeting place. He'd run all over the Feravel Plains as a boy, dodging through corn fields and jumping fences on his way to and from Amaranthine. The farmhouse had once belonged to a somewhat wealthy couple; the wife would often let him have thick slices of freshly baked bread slathered with sweet honey and butter. If they were involved in this potential coup, he would be highly disappointed.

"Your informant did his job quickly," he said, taking the lead down the road.

"For fifty sovereigns, it had better be a quick job," Moira replied, sounding just a little bit perturbed. Even though the man had been apologetic for taking on the name of the Dark Wolf, Nathaniel thought that it still irked Moira just a bit. "I'd hate to have already been ambushed before he sent word as to who my attackers had been."

"Don't you think that we should have taken more people along?" The landscape was starting to turn into more fenced in fields; they'd be at the house in minutes. "Perhaps at least Oghren or Justice?" They were their heavier hitting warrior types in the group; both were good in a fight and Nathaniel would have felt better about taking on an unspecified number of people with the extra help.

"Too many people," Moira explained. "If things go badly, I don't want to have anyone identified and made into a target." She crouched down, hiding behind a tall patch of wheat. "Besides, I'm not intending on leaving here until the threat against me is neutralized. Justice wouldn't like that." It was one of the irritating things about having the spirit of justice around – Moira's moral compass wasn't always on the straight and narrow and any time she inched closer to the grey area of a situation, she could all but feel the disapproval radiate off the Fade spirit in waves.

"And when you say neutralize, you mean that you're going to kill them all."

She arched an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"

"Actually, I was going to suggest the same thing. Leaving even one person alive means that they can strike against you later on." He might not have been trained as extensively in the assassin talents as Moira, but common sense told him that they needed to finish this to the last person.

"I don't like killing," she confessed, staring straight ahead. She could hear voices several feet away. "But it is necessary." Zevran had been quite vocal about getting enjoyment out of the actual act, and as gentle as Leliana was, Moira could see a faint wistfulness in the bard's eye every time they spoke of her past, almost as if she wished that there was a way to continue her former lifestyle. For her own part, Moira learned everything that both of them had to offer, but she never felt the same deep satisfaction of the kill that she felt for any of the other rogue skills she had picked up from them.

For his part, Nathaniel didn't say anything. He knew what she was trying to say, that she might be required to do something well, but it didn't necessarily mean that she had to enjoy what she did. The way she had her body braced was as if she were worried that he'd disapprove of her, that this might change how he felt about her. Not knowing how else to verbalize his feelings, he crouched down beside her, their shoulders touching and a supportive hand on top of hers. He felt rather than heard the soft exhale of breath she must have been holding, her fingers lacing with his.

"I'm counting five," he whispered.

"_Ma tutti non hai scorto,_" someone behind them said. Moira and Nathaniel only had a brief second to roll out of the way before a rain of darts scattered the grass they had previously been hiding in. "_Qui! In questo loco!_" His shouts alerted the others, who came running with their weapons drawn.

"I was _not_ expecting this," Moira hissed, unsheathing one of the knives she kept hidden in her boot. "If it hasn't already been done, I'm going to kill Master Ignacio." She hurled the thin throwing blade in the air, hitting their attacker square in the eye. He went down without another sound. "_Non èvvero! M'ha promesso._"

Nathaniel vaguely comprehended the fact that Moira knew Antivan and that one of the Master Crows had promised her something, mostly because he was busy firing arrows at the rapidly approaching crowd, aiming for the archer that was intending on shooting Moira down. His aim was true; he followed his shot, watching as the other archer's head knocked backwards, an arrow in his forehead and several more jutting out from his chest. He watched as Moira ran forward with a yell, both swords extended. Lord Guy never stood a chance as they collided. A high pitched howl pierced the air and the man fell to his knees, clutching the stub where his right arm used to be. Nathaniel provided covering fire as she ran to her next assailant. Lady Morag thought that she would be clever and attack Moira while her back was turned, but Nathaniel put several arrows in her body. Quiver empty, he drew his daggers and waded into the fray.

"At least these people are talented," Moira huffed, blocking a sword attack from Lady Liza. She backed up until her back was flush against Nathaniel's.

Nathaniel bit back a cry when the dark haired assassin's blade sliced across his arm. "Less talking," he told her, pressing forward to try to get an advantage over his opponent. "More ass kicking." He saw that there was a leghold trap partially hidden in the path. Using the majority of his strength, he thrust his blade forward, forcing his attacker to back up until the man's foot was caught. His attacker taken off guard by the pain, Nathaniel stabbed his knife in between the man's ribs, blood splattering everywhere. Breathing hard, he turned around in a circle, looking for any other hidden attackers.

"Who else is there?" Moira demanded, kicking aside Lord Guy's sword. She straddled him, both of her hands grabbing fistfuls of his bloody tunic. "Who else?"

"No one!" Lord Guy screamed, his voice pitching higher when Moira jabbed her thumb into his exposed shoulder.

"Why don't I believe you?"

"She said you'd be easy to kill," he wailed, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. "She said it would be for the best!" Moira let go of him and Lord Guy flopped about like a landed fish, bright red arterial blood staining the ground around him.

"Who is she?" Moira leaned close. "Tell me and I'll bandage you."

Lord Guy spit in her face. Moira turned her face aside, but not before blood and spittle streaked down her cheek. Getting up, she walked over to identify more of the bodies. By the time she had returned, Lord Guy was dead. "This was not all of them," she said, using her sleeve to wipe her face.

"What makes you think so?" Nathaniel asked, picking up arrows. He fitted one against his bow and was warily looking for more traps or other attackers.

"There are three Crow assassins lying dead here. Admittedly, they weren't very good – the Crows in Denerim had put up a better fight than these – but their services do not come cheap. And," she brushed her hands off on her knees. "Master Ignacio swore to me that the last time I was a target for the Crows would be the last time I'd _ever _be a target for them. It was part of the deal that we had and either he's backed out of his end of the bargain or someone has offered these three a considerable amount of money to ignore his orders."

Now that he was sure they were alone, he let his guard down a bit. "How much money are we talking about here?"

"More than what these minor nobles have in their vaults combined, that's for sure." She was _angry_. "Lord Guy said that _she_ told them I'd be easy to kill. Who in Amaranthine would have enough clout to persuade these people to move against me and have deep enough pockets to afford Crow assassins?"

Nathaniel pressed his left hand against his forearm to stem the bleeding. "I think we both know who that might be," he said, ripping his sleeve to make a makeshift bandage. It would do until they got back. "What are we going to do with the bodies?"

Moira crossed her arms. "Leave them where they are. I want her to see what happens when one tries to take me on."

The trip back to the Keep was silent. Nathaniel spent the walk thinking of reasons Bann Esmerelle would have to kill Moira. And if Bann Esmerelle was involved, Nathaniel knew that Ser Timothy wouldn't be far behind. He had seen how they had acted together the night Moira met with the nobility; it was obvious that they thought on the same wavelengths. He was also thinking about what Moira said about being a target for the Crows. While they had talked about what happened during the Blight, she hadn't said anything about assassins besides the fact that she had befriended one along the way. He wondered who had ordered her death. He also wondered just what this bargain she had struck with a master assassin entailed and if her involvement with them explained why many of her fighting techniques mirrored those from the Crows.

"You know that we can't prove she's involved," he said once they walked through the front gates.

Moira's shoulders slumped forward. "I know." She curled her fingers against his as they went inside, but jerked her hand away. "Why didn't you tell me you were still bleeding?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"It's nothing. Just a scratch."

"Who cut you? If it was a Crow, it could have been poisoned."

He sniffed. "I checked. It wasn't. If it had been, I would have said something earlier."

Moira drew him towards the Keep's infirmary. The Keep had been woefully undersupplied when it had first been ambushed, and Moira was determined not to let that happen again. It still wasn't much, just a large room with several cots and a few bandaging supplies, but they were working on it. Moira and Anders had spent several nights restocking the poultice supplies; even Velanna had helped with those. "Sit there and don't move."

Nathaniel's lips quirked up as he did as he was told, watching from the chair she had pulled out for him as she bustled about, tugging off her bloody fingerless gloves and washing her hands in the infirmary's basin before gathering an armload of supplies from the cabinets. "Yes, ma'am," he replied, looking down at his forearm. The fabric he'd wound around the gash had already soaked through.

She knelt in front of him, her fingers gingerly unwrapping his bandage. Carefully cleaning the blood away with a fresh cloth and cool water, she sighed in relief. "It doesn't look too bad," she told him. "It is bad enough though; you're going to need stitches. Anders or Velanna can heal this easily. Let me go get them." She braced her hand on his leg, using his knee to help her get up.

He held onto her hand. "No, stitches are fine." She gave him a confused look and he shrugged. "What's one more scar?"

She frowned, but went to the cabinets again to retrieve what she needed. She also brought a small portable table with her for Nathaniel to brace his arm against. "Spoken like someone who has a few scars to spare."

Her eyes were downcast, and Nathaniel wanted nothing more than to erase that look from her face. "I have several in some interesting places. If you'd like, I'd be more than happy to show them to you." His quip had the desired effect; Moira shook her head and a ghost of a smile appeared on her lips.

"I might take you up on that offer, Ser," she murmured absently, threading the long, curved needle. "I'll warn you; this is going to hurt."

He reached out and hooked his uninjured arm around her waist. Pulling her towards him, he tugged her into his lap. "Distract me?" The lightweight leather armor she had decided to wear dug into his thigh, but he didn't care.

She blushed, but didn't make a move to stand up. "Not too much," she said. "Unless you want crooked stitches."

"I have every confidence in your needlework."

Moira dabbed his arm again and picked up the needle. "I hope you can still say the same when I'm finished." Using her left hand, she held the cut together as she made her first stitch, holding her breath when Nathaniel softly hissed in pain. He closed his eyes, trying to distance himself from the odd tugging sensation as the needle and thread went through his skin. He had to admit, she was quick about her work; before he knew it Moira had slathered on a thick layer of healing paste and was efficiently wrapping a clean bandage over it all.

"Try not to get it wet for at least a day or two," she said, her voice oddly thick as she wiped her hands on a cloth. He wished that she was facing him so he could see her expression, and his left arm tightened around her when she tried to stand.

"Thank you," he said, attempting to look over her shoulder. "I hardly felt a thing."

"I'm so sorry, Nate," she whispered, bowing her head. "I hate that you got hurt because of me. This was my fault."

He wrapped both arms around her and hugged her close. She didn't resist, her arms went around his shoulders and she pressed her face against the side of his neck. "I don't see how this was your fault," he said into her hair. "I was the one that was too slow to avoid the attack."

Her reply was muffled, but he still understood her. "I should have gone without you. Then you wouldn't have even gotten hurt."

He scoffed. "Please. I know that you're good, but I seriously doubt that you could have taken them all on by yourself. Besides," he tilted her face up with his fingers. "I would have followed you anyway."

"But…"

"What did I tell you about not having to do things by yourself? Moira, you're stuck with me, whether you wish it or not. I'm not going to let you wander into danger by yourself when I'm perfectly capable of helping you. Even if you don't want to involve anyone else, I will always be there at your back."

Moira found it hard to breathe as she sat there staring at his earnest expression. "That sounds too much like an oath of loyalty," she said, trying to lighten the mood.

"If that's what you wish it to be." He traced her face with his fingers. "I, Nathaniel Howe, solemnly swear fealty to you, Moira Cousland. My life is your life; my sword is your sword. I promise to serve and protect you and your lands as long as there is breath left in me." He gave her a crooked smile. "I know it's not as poetic or properly thought out as it could have been, but you'll have to forgive me. I'm thinking on my feet here."

She leaned forward, her forehead touching his. "No, it was perfect," she told him. Impulsively, she cupped the sides of his face with her hands and lightly pressed her lips to his. He broke the kiss first, looking at her with a silent question in his eyes. Giving her plenty of time to change her mind and back away, he brushed his mouth against hers once, then twice, his hand cradling the back of her neck in his palm. There was no heat, no seduction to their kiss; just a sense of wonder that he was able to hold her like this again after so long. He tilted his head, smiling against Moira's mouth when she threaded her fingers in his hair, her thumbs rubbing at his jaw.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he murmured, feathering kisses along the corners of her lips.

"Probably as long as I have," she sighed, twisting in his lap to further press herself against him. "I've missed you so much, Nathaniel."

His hands stroked her sides, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip when she shivered. "Can I take it that you want to pick up where we left off?" His voice was hopeful, but he felt his stomach drop when she shook her head.

"I don't think we can. We were both different people then." She smoothed the worry line that had appeared between his eyebrows. "But I'd like to start something new."

He let out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. "You do realize that everyone is going to talk, right? Especially Anders. And he's probably going to have a smug little grin on his face the entire time as well."

"First one to crack a joke gets fed to darkspawn," she said, swallowing his laugh as she kissed him again. "Though Oghren will more than likely have something lewd to suggest."

His eyebrow winged upward as he gave her a rakish smirk. "Should I follow up on his suggestions?"

"If it involves the phrase _hiding the helmet_, then _no_." She pressed a finger against his lips when she saw him trying to figure that one out. "Don't ask. You don't want to know." She and Alistair had been curious enough to ask the same question of Oghren during their travels and the dwarf had been happy to provide them with a graphic explanation that had more than likely traumatized Alistair permanently.

"So…" He let his hands rest at her waist. "What do we do now?"

Moira stood up and started putting everything away. "I don't know. I guess we let the others know that a large chunk of people have now been taken out of the conspiracy, but that we have good reason to believe that there are others hidden about." She washed the bowl and placed it back in the cabinet. "And then we pay Ser Temmerly a visit. I don't have high hopes in persuading him to talk, but he could provide us with some information."

"And the Crows? Just because we killed the three there doesn't mean that Esmerelle can't send more."

Moira frowned. She could pen a letter to Master Ignacio demanding he explain why three of his people had come after her, but she was unaware of the political climate in Antiva. Her letter just may bring even more Crows to her doorstep. "Let them come. We can take them." She tensed when she felt Nathaniel's arms go around her, but quickly melted into his embrace, his chin resting on her shoulder.

"Did you know that's the first time I've heard you use the words 'we' or 'us' when talking about solving a problem?"

She placed her hands over his. "I have it on good authority that I don't necessarily have to do things by myself all the time."

"That sounds wise." He kissed the side of her neck. "You must have a brilliant advisor."

She turned, her arms going over his shoulders. "One of the best." She felt almost…_giddy_ at the thought that she was standing there in the middle of an infirmary ward with her arms around Nathaniel. She knew it was irresponsible of her to think so, but suddenly all of the other problems that had been running through her head didn't seem as troubling as they had when she'd woken up that morning.

The smile he gave her reminded Moira of a much younger Nathaniel. "What's so funny?" she asked.

"You," he said. "It seems that I've finally cracked that ever persistent Cousland stubbornness." He yelped when she pinched his side. "It isn't sporting to attack an injured man, you know."

She rolled her eyes, smoothing her hand over his offended side. "I thought you said that it was just a scratch," she joked. "And we Couslands have never been stubborn; we call it…"

"Hard headed?" He pressed a kiss to her forehead to soften the jest.

She tightened her arms around him. "I was going to say that we're firm in our convictions. And don't try to change us either."

He dipped his head, kissing her again just because he _could_. He felt as if he were eighteen all over again, except this time they didn't have to hide their newfound relationship from parents or overprotective older brothers. "I wouldn't have you any other way."


	23. amie

Title: Amie  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #20; broken dreams  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: Shared nightmares were just one of the many perks of becoming a Grey Warden.

* * *

_The stench of darkspawn filled Moira's nose until she was close to gagging. Pain lanced up her leg and she kicked out, catching the childer grub and sending it flying a few feet away. The tang of ozone and ash filled the air, an after-effect of Anders' casting a thunderbolt and fireball in rapid succession. Somewhere ahead of her, she could hear Oghren bellowing out a war cry. But what caught her attention was the sight of Nathaniel, caught in the tentacles of that….thing, that broodmother. His body was limp as she shook him about like a rag doll. The broodmother cackled, a sound that made Moira's hair stand on end. Nathaniel's face was turned towards her, and the eye that hadn't been ruined from acid stared blindly at her. Screaming, Moira ran towards them and…_

Moira bolted awake, her breath ragged and her hand clenched around the hilt of the blade she kept at her bedside. She sat up and rested her head on her knees, her entire body shaking. While she had often dreamt of darkspawn, this had been the most vivid nightmare since the archdemon. _And that probably isn't a good thing,_ Moira thought, scrubbing her face with her hands. Getting up out of bed, she didn't bother with a robe. Padding barefoot down the hallway, she stopped at Nathaniel's door wearing nothing but a thin nightgown that barely kept out the late evening chill. She could hear him wrestling with his own nightmares in his sleep, the distressed sounds he made wiped all guilt from her mind as she easily picked the lock to his door and slipped inside. As an afterthought, she locked the door behind her before going to his side.

"Wake up, Nate," she said, putting her hands against the side of his face. He muttered something incomprehensible, his head tossing to the side. "Nathaniel." His arms were tense and he thrashed about even harder.

She had expected him to come to swinging, but it still took all of her agility to dodge the fist aimed at her. "Moira?" Nathaniel asked, sitting up in bed, the sheets tangled around his legs and his eyes still wild. "Damn, I didn't hit you, did I?"

She smirked. "You're not quite as fast half asleep as you usually are," she said, sitting down on the mattress beside him. "You completely missed me."

He reached out and held onto her arm. Moonlight spilled from the window near his bed, the full moon outside giving him enough light to see by. "No bites," he said, turning her arm over and running a finger over the underside of her forearm.

"You had the same dream?" Moira asked, her free hand tracing the right side of his face. She shuddered, remembering the way that his dream flesh had blistered and peeled away, exposing bone.

Nathaniel turned his head, his lips settling against her palm. It had been odd; he hadn't felt any pain during the dream, but he had clearly heard Moira scream out to him. She'd been running, her hand stretched out towards him, when she'd been overcome by those grublike beings. He had struggled against the hold that the large, bloated being had on him, but he couldn't reach Moira in time to help her. The last thing he remembered before he had jolted into consciousness was seeing her overcome, her body covered by scores of those chittering, screeching creatures and the thing that held him cackling in his ear. "What _was_ that?" he asked, his hand wrapping around her wrist, his thumb running in reassuring circles over her pulse.

"That was a broodmother," Moira said. "More than likely, it was the Mother that the First had been talking about in the Blackmarsh."

"You've seen them before, haven't you?"

She nodded. "In the Deep Roads. Just one of the many reasons I really don't want to venture out into them again." She took her hand away and Nathaniel could feel her withdrawing into herself. "The Mother was human, once."

His eyes widened. "What are you saying? That darkspawn did this to her?"

Moira nodded. "They don't have many uses for men, except to kill them for food. Women…" she shuddered. "How else do you think little hurlocks are born? They need us in order to sustain their numbers. That's why you rarely find the bodies of women in the villages that have been attacked."

"That's…" he grimaced, trying to wrap his mind around this new information.

"Horrific? Nightmarish? Completely incomprehensible?"

He shook his head. "All of the above." He _refused_ to think of what would happen should Moira be captured.

"Won't happen," she said, looking up at him.

"What?"

"I know what you're thinking. One of the reasons I always take Oghren with us is that he promised me, years ago, that the same wouldn't ever happen to me. He'd see that I'd be useless to them before that happened."

He got up from the mattress and paced towards the window. The few torches a story below reflected off the stones outside, the rest of the Keep bathed in the moon's silvery glow. He turned his head towards her and frowned. "Useless meaning that he'd kill you first."

She stood as well and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes." Her expression was perfectly blank; her eyes as flat as her voice. Nathaniel had rarely seen her as such and it made goosebumps crawl across his skin. "I trust him, Nate. Would you be able to do the same if he weren't around?" She tried to pose the same question to herself; would she be able to kill Nathaniel before the darkspawn got to him? Would she be capable of ending his life quickly where they would draw it out? If she were honest with herself, she would say that she wasn't sure if she could. Her feelings for him would definitely cloud her judgment.

"I…" he sighed, his shoulders drooping in defeat. "No, I wouldn't." He hated thinking about it, especially after the nightmare he just had. Wanting to dispel the lingering feeling of unease, he reached out and gathered Moira in his arms. Her hair was down and the faint cloud of lavender that wafted from the strands calmed his nerves.

"Could I stay here with you tonight?" she asked, her cheek against his chest. "I don't want to be alone, not after that."

His hands ran over the thin linen nightshift she wore. "Of course." He glanced over at the overstuffed chair near his bed. The last time that they had been together, they had spent many a night curled up in it. "Though I don't know if we'd both fit in that thing again. We were a lot…"

"Slimmer?" she asked, arching her eyebrow.

"I'd never say such a thing," he lightly teased, kissing her forehead. "We were _younger _eight years ago, is what I meant to say. My ladyship hadn't been hefting longswords on a regular basis and I was still as skinny as a beanpole." He'd only started to fill out after his first year away – archery drills and vigorous sword practice had defined muscles that he hadn't had before.

"I wouldn't say you were a beanpole," she countered, her hands absently gliding over the muscles of his back. "You had a lighter build than others, yes, but I wager that made learning rogue skills second nature to you." And she was truthful when she said that he hadn't been as thin as he thought himself to be. There had always been a lithe, whipcord sort of strength about him, his body built to efficiently move with swift grace instead of bulkily lumbering about like his more muscular contemporaries.

He tilted his head, his unbraided hair falling across his shoulder. "Whatever did you see in me back then? It certainly couldn't have been my dashing good looks."

She gave him a small smile. "I think you sell yourself short, Nathaniel." She rocked up on the balls of her feet and softly pressed her lips to his. Her smile widened at his intake of breath and the way his hands settled against her waist, bringing her flush to his front. "I saw a great deal in you that interested me back then. I still do."

"And for that," he said, his mouth moving across hers with each word, "I consider myself extremely fortunate."

Moira's hands ran down his sides, her fingers catching on the waistband of his loose fitting trousers, which was the only thing he had worn to sleep in. "Let's go to sleep," she whispered, kissing his chin as she took his hand and drew him back to his bed. "We've a lot to do in the morning." She expected that the other Wardens would have something to say about their shared dream, and she wanted to grab what little sleep she could before trying to answer any questions anyone might have. Crawling under the sheets, she settled against the pillows Nathaniel hadn't been using. "What?"

He smiled. "Nothing." He drew the covers over them both and pulled up his arm so she could curl against him. "I was just remembering what happened the last time you were in my bed."

_Now_ Moira blushed. She put her head against his shoulder, remembering the unhurried way they had let their hands wander all those years ago, how they had carefully mapped out the other's bodies for the first time. "Feeling hopeful?" she flirtingly asked, snuggling closer to him. Heat all but radiated off Nathaniel's skin and she let it sink into her bones, the knots in her neck and shoulders where she kept her stress slowly unwinding. She gasped when she felt his hand gather up the material of her nightdress and slowly slide it upwards, teasingly stopping at the curve of her hip.

"Can't blame a man for trying," he murmured, tangling his legs with hers. "But not tonight." He rubbed his cheek against her hair. "Sleep. I'll keep your nightmares at bay."

"Goodnight," she said, already feeling her eyes grow heavy. Turning her head, she pressed her lips against his chest, directly over his heart. "I'll do the same for you."

If anyone would have ventured into Nathaniel's bedchamber the next morning, they would have found them both sound asleep. Both of them had shifted during the night; Moira was now on her side with her back facing him, Nathaniel curled protectively around her, his knees fitting snugly behind hers. Her hand covered his, their fingers laced together.

Moira's eyes cracked open at the sound of songbirds at the window. She was too comfortable to complain, but Nathaniel had wound up hogging the better part of the mattress, leaving her with only a sliver to herself. She tried to push him onto his back, but all her efforts had earned her was a sleepy grunt from Nathaniel, who wrapped his arm tighter around her waist and buried his face against her skin, his stubble lightly scraping her shoulder. Sighing, she settled back against his chest and decided she had enough time to doze for a little while longer before she would have to sneak back to her chambers.

_Next time, we'll stay in my room,_ she thought, settling more comfortably in his arms. _I have a larger bed._


	24. hallelujah

Title: Hallelujah  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #23; candlelight  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Nathaniel and Moira play a game of "If you show me yours, I'll show you mine" with their scars.  
Note: This chapter is probably the only one that would have pushed the story to an M rating, so instead of completely changing the rating, this is the _heavily_ edited version. The full version can be found at my writing journal: http:(double slash)bossy-muses(dot)livejournal(dot)com/63356(dot)html

* * *

"Blasted scavengers," Moira hissed under her breath, searching the contents of said scavenger's clothing. He didn't protest, mostly because he was dead. "Sodding rain."

"If I didn't know any better," Nathaniel said dryly, tossing his head to the side to get his hair out of his eyes, "I'd say I was traveling with the dwarf."

Moira snorted and jammed some more of the goods they had managed to salvage into her pack. "That can be remedied," she told him archly, shivering in her armor as rain pelted the two of them. "I'll just run back to the Keep while you keep watch here and tell him that we're going to need an extra hand carting all this back."

Nathaniel shouldered two satchels and shook his head. "That won't be necessary. Come on, we've saved everything that hasn't been ruined."

Moira's boots squelched in the mud and she had to brace her legs to regain her footing. "Somehow, I don't think we're going to make it back in this weather."

He reached out and held onto her elbow. "I think you're right. Luckily, we're close to town. A night at the inn sounds much more agreeable than trying to set up camp out here." He would have suggested his sister's home for shelter from the storm, but he didn't want to impose.

The summer thunderstorm had caught them both by surprise. The day had begun warmer than usual and hadn't held any promise of rain. Mistress Woolsey had requested that some merchant goods be retrieved before scavengers could claim them, and Moira had felt that it was a simple job for only two people. Nathaniel had volunteered to go with her, ignoring Oghren and Anders' snickers behind his back and muttered comments about wanting 'private time' with the Commander. While he and Moira had been discreet over the past fortnight about the change in their relationship, it seemed as if everyone in their group had caught on. While sneaking around and stealing covert kisses in darkened hallways had its appeal, it was also was a relief to know that should he want to, he could stride up to the throne room dais and kiss Moira senseless. Not that he ever _would_; he was far too private of a person to display that much affection in front of others, but he _could_.

As luck would have it, Amaranthine was only roughly twenty minutes of walking from the salvage site. By the time that they reached the front gates, the sun had gone down over the horizon. Both of them were soaked through to the bone and completely chilled, their clothes sticking to their bodies uncomfortably. Moira's hair was plastered to her scalp and her teeth were chattering together.

"Awful weather out tonight?" The innkeeper at the Crown and Lion commented, looking up at them from his spot behind the bar.

"Absolutely horrible," Moira agreed, warming her hands in front of the fire, a puddle of rainwater already starting to form under her boots.

"We're looking for rooms," Nathaniel said, going over to the bar. He pulled out his money pouch and fished out five sovereigns. "Anything private with a fireplace."

The innkeeper pocketed the money and slid a room key. "Last room on the right. I can have a spot of dinner brought up, if you'd like."

"It would be appreciated."

Moira arched her eyebrow at Nathaniel once they were alone in their rented room. "How much money did you bribe him with to get this one?" she asked, huddling in front of the fireplace once she managed to get a fire going. She shivered again and sneezed.

"Enough that we're not going to be bothered for the rest of the evening," he replied, thanking the maid who came in with a platter of roast beef and potatoes. She'd also included a kettle of tea and two mugs. "You're going to have to get out of those clothes if you don't want to catch cold."

"I would, but there's nothing to wear while they dry." She rolled her eyes when Nathaniel held up one of the blankets from the bed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were using this as a chance to see me half naked." The past few weeks had been full of kisses and embraces that reminded her of eight years ago, and while she wasn't against the idea of throwing off all her clothes and tackling Nathaniel, it seemed as if he wanted to take things at a slower pace.

It was driving her practically insane, which was probably what he intended in the first place.

"I'll turn my back," he said, his tone teasing. "I promise I won't catch a glimpse of your frilly pink smallclothes."

Moira laughed, unbuckling the straps to her armor. "And what makes you think that they're pink?" she quipped back, setting the leather near the hearth. Hopefully the rain hadn't ruined the set – it was one of her favorites so far that she'd commissioned Wade to make for her. She'd found out that if the metalsmith wasn't given a regular challenge every once and a while, he grew bored, which made production of the armor he'd promised her troops slower than usual. A change of pace did him good and his productivity went up, much to her and Herrin's delight.

She took a breath before peeling the thin undershirt over her head. The white material had already been rendered transparent, which didn't leave anything to the imagination, but it was still an article of clothing to take off. She could practically feel Nathaniel's eyes on her back as she wrapped herself up in one of the blankets.

"Black," he murmured in approval, handing her a mug of steaming tea. "I wouldn't have guessed." He brushed past her and went about undoing the buckles to his own armor. He stretched his shirt and trousers on the hearth next to her clothing, his boots joining hers as well. He slung another blanket around his hips, grinning at the way Moira's eyes quickly darted away when she saw that he was aware of her watching him. "It suits you."

Brushing her still wet hair out of her eyes, Moira got up and lit the candles sitting on the bedside table. Her eyes went around the room and she couldn't help but notice that the bed was the only option they had for sleeping arrangements. She didn't have a problem with it, but she wondered what Nathaniel would think. "It seems as if I'm going to be taking you up on your offer," she said, pulling her blanket higher on her shoulders.

"Hmm?"

"You offered to show me the scars you had. I do believe you said they were in interesting places."

He shrugged. "Ah, yes. Those. I'm afraid to say that I probably exaggerated a bit when I said they were interesting." He turned and raised his arm, showing a thin white line that went from his left shoulder blade and curved down to his rib.

"Where did you get that one?" she asked, moving closer to him, her fingers tracing the mark.

"Sparing match. I was too slow." It had also been one of the first times he'd attempted to fight with two blades instead of one. He'd been uncoordinated and his opponent had easily bested him. They sat down next to the hearth. "Where did this one come from?" he inquired, his index finger brushing underneath her right collarbone. A small puckered scar peeked out from under her blanket, looking all the world like an arrow wound.

"In Ostagar. Alistair and I were sent to light the beacon to signal the cavalry to arrive, but the tower was overrun by darkspawn. The two of us would have died there if it hadn't been for Flemeth's rescue." She didn't remember much about the events that followed, mainly because she had cracked her head when she had fallen. "And this?"

Nathaniel smiled, looking down at his knee. It was old and hardly visible, but he felt the raised bit of skin with his fingers. "I'm surprised you don't remember. I believe that _you_ caused that one, dear lady."

She gaped at him. "When did I…" she took a breath. "In the woods, when we were children."

"I seem to recall that we had been playing a rather frenzied version of 'Dragons and Knights' that day. I had the misfortune of being the dragon that turn."

Moira shook her head, remembering how she had swung at him with her sword, which in reality had been a tree branch. "We ran back to the castle as fast as we could. I remember crying the entire time, I felt so horrible." She reached out and gently stroked the mark. "You told Nan that you had fallen instead of telling her what had really happened. It seems that even then, you were looking out for me."

Nathaniel shivered. "Your fingers are freezing," he said as a way to disguise the fact that a mere brush of skin on skin contact had affected him so. He held her hand in both of his hand rubbed their fingers together.

Moira swallowed hard, staring at their joined hands. Both of them had little nicks and old cuts on their knuckles. She should have been embarrassed by the calluses caused by fighting with swords that made her palm and fingers rough, but she wasn't. She was more interested in the same calluses that littered Nathaniel's hands. They were in different places than hers, especially around his right index and middle fingers from years of archery.

Nathaniel glanced up from her hands, noting that her blanket had slid off her shoulders to puddle at her waist. The firelight illuminated her skin, showing him various old injuries from battling darkspawn. "What is this one from?" he asked, letting go of her hand to trace a scar on her side. It was larger than the rest and went in a neat line across her ribs. The center mass of it was thicker than the edges, as if whatever weapon had caused it had nearly struck something vital.

She drew in a sharp breath. "It's nothing," she said, standing up and moving away from him. "Just something that I should have avoided." She pulled the edges of the blanket together and bit her lip.

"It's not 'nothing'," Nathaniel argued, standing up behind her. Gently, he turned her towards him and tilted her head up so that she was staring at him. "Where did you get it?"

She looked away from him for a brief moment before looking him in the eye again. "Denerim."

He let out a breath. "My father did this to you." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." Rendon had baited her by describing just how he had stabbed her father and how cowardly Bryce had run away. It was stupid; she shouldn't have let her emotions control her, but it had been enough of a distraction for him to swing the hatchet he wielded, the blade piercing her armor. Wynne's magic had stopped the bleeding and knitted the majority of the skin back together, but Moira had been thrown into Fort Drakon before it could be completely healed, hence the scar.

"Moira…" She jumped when she felt Nathaniel's hands against bare skin, and she let out a strangled moan when he knelt, his lips tracing the worst of the scar, the silent apology making her knees buckle. She tangled her hands into his hair, hardly daring to breathe when his arms went around her hips and pulled her into his embrace. Stepping away from him, she cupped his face in her palms. Before he could question what she was doing, she bent at the waist and kissed him.

He rose from his knees, his mouth still against hers. Their blankets fell away and Nathaniel clutched her to him, closing his eyes tightly at the feel of her body against his. "Are you certain?" he asked, trailing his lips down to her throat.

Moira nodded, not trusting her voice. Taking his hands, she led him closer to the bed. He kissed her again, both of them falling against the mattress.

Much later, Nathaniel sprawled over her body, his arms circling her. "Too heavy?" he asked, his voice slurring as he moved down her body, his head resting against her chest, listening as the frantic beat of her heart underneath his ear slowed down to a normal rhythm.

"Never," she replied, her fingers lazily sifting through his hair.

He let out a contented sounding noise and nuzzled the side of her breast, his lips pressing over her heart. "You're thinking," he mumbled, looking up. "You aren't regretting this, are you?" He rolled to his side, bringing her with him. The wax from the candle at the bedside table had lowered considerably, but there was still enough light to see her expression.

"Of course not," she told him, propping herself up on an elbow. She shivered when his hand moved over her side before curling around her bottom, tugging her closer to him than she already was. She leaned against his chest, her nose brushing his. "I was just thinking that despite how I originally felt about it, I'm so glad that we got caught in the rain."


	25. chasing cars

Title: Chasing Cars  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #7; tangled up  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: PG-13 for pillow talk, Wardens with wandering hands, and overall fluff.  
Summary: Certain people almost falling out of bed each night prompt a serious change in Nathaniel and Moira's relationship.

* * *

After spending two nights tucked close to the edge of Nathaniel's mattress with his arm around her waist the only thing keeping her from falling off, Moira had convinced him that they had needed her considerably larger bed. Nathaniel had feared that it would feel strange to wake up naked in his parent's bedroom, but he had to admit that it hardly resembled the room that he remembered from his youth. For one, the massive bed was clearly new. The dark wood might match the bedside tables – one of them suffered a chip in the corner when he and Thomas had gotten too boisterous during their roughhousing in their youth – but the four-poster style was more modern looking than the ornately carved headboard that once sat there had been. The portraits that had lined the walls for as long as he could remember were also gone, pale lines on the stone the only reminder that there had once been anything hanging. The armoire in the corner actually used to belong in Delilah's room. His sister had been quite the clotheshorse during her teenage years, and the massive piece of furniture had barely contained everything she owned. The armor stand was also a new addition, as was the trunk at the foot of the bed Moira said had come from her childhood room in Highever and the weapon rack nearby Moira kept her swords housed upon. Even the chairs that flanked the fireplace were from other rooms in the Keep.

Besides the tables, the only original pieces of furniture were his mother's vanity and jewelry case. Moira had added her own touches: squat glass jars and thin vials containing pleasant smelling lotions and tonics that were neatly arranged next to her wooden cosmetic case solved the mystery as to why she always smelled of lavender and a silver backed brush that still had strands of her dark hair tangled in the bristles lay close at hand. Nathaniel's eyes lingered on the mirror attached to the vanity and he had a brief flashback of watching his parents prepare for a party. He had been quite young at the time – Delilah had been but a bump underneath his mother's dress. He might have been young, but he could clearly remember the way that his mother would hum to herself as she sat before the mirror applying rouge to her lips, one of her hands patting at her hairstyle. His father had been standing behind her, fastening a golden necklace with a scattering of rubies set here and there around her neck. What struck Nathaniel about his memory was just how happy the two of them had looked back then.

Thomas had been the one to enlighten Nathaniel to how things had soured between his parents, when the stony silences and cold glares had begun. His mother had been unfaithful to her husband, falling for a traveling musician. Nathaniel's father had found out about their affair and instead of merely banishing the man for his crimes, he had brutally killed him in front of his wife. At the time, Nathaniel hadn't wanted to believe his father capable of such horrible things, but with everything that he had recently learned, he didn't put anything past him any longer. His mother's indiscretion would have been forgotten, but Rendon had a daily reminder of her tryst in the form of Nathaniel's little brother. It was after Thomas' birth that he had grown distant from all his children, when Nathaniel had often felt as if he had to work to earn the slightest bit of praise or affection from his father where both had come so readily before when it had only been him and Delilah around.

The only thing that had kept Regina in Amaranthine all those years had been Nathaniel's grandmother. His mother couldn't leave soon enough the moment her own mother had died, retreating to her family's estate in the Bannorn. As a further display of callousness, his father had ordered her to leave without anything but the clothes on her back. Nathaniel had done some questioning and it seemed as if his mother had not survived the Blight; her estate having been burnt to the ground and skeletal remains of everyone inside all that was left.

Strangely enough, Nathaniel couldn't bring himself to grieve too much. While she never came across as hating him outright, she had been cold and showed little affection, if any at all, to him once Thomas had been born. His only guess now would be that he had strongly favored his father, the one man that she had despised more than anyone else. If anyone had been a mother to him, it had been Adria. She had freely given him and his siblings her love where their own parents hadn't and he deeply mourned her passing still.

He stared at Moira, who was still asleep at his side, and vowed that the same would never happen between them. His expression softened when she murmured something in her sleep, her face turning towards him and a faint smile on her lips. She was on her back, her left arm tucked underneath her pillows and her right arm stretched up near her head. The sheets had slid down, baring her from the waist up. He wasn't complaining; the scene before him was utterly breathtaking. Propping himself on his left elbow, he reached out and stroked her side, her skin indescribably soft under his fingers.

She stirred against him, her eyes fluttering open as she slowly stretched. "Mmmm, good morning," she said, smiling up at him.

"Hello," he replied, reaching out to brush an errant lock of hair out of her eyes.

She rolled onto her side, her hands pillowing her head. "Have you been awake for long?"

He shook his head. "No. I didn't want to wake you." Nathaniel rested his hand in the dip of her hip. "You sleep like an angel."

She giggled. "A drooling one, I'll bet." She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. "I probably look a mess; I have bed hair."

"I happen to like bed hair." He knew that his own wasn't in the best of shape either. He slowly drew her closer to him, smiling against her shoulder when she draped her leg over his. "I'm sorry."

Her brow furrowed. "Whatever for?"

"Last night." His hand settled over the darkening fingertip shaped bruises on her hip. He'd spent the entire day helping Captain Garevel train the newer recruits to Amaranthine's army, frustrated with the fact that all they had to work with were boys who more than likely hadn't seen fifteen summers go by in their young lives and old men who had seen more than their share of seasonal changes. Nathaniel had gone back in that evening to sullenly take his dinner in the kitchens when he had seen Moira already there doing the same. She'd been studying some inventory or another, completely unaware of his arrival. She'd nibbled at her bottom lip, and it had taken everything in him to wait until they had both finished eating - especially after the warm smile she had given once she had realized he had entered the kitchens was the first welcoming thing he had seen after such a long afternoon - instead of dragging her off to her bedroom right then and there. As it was, they hadn't even made it past the bedroom's threshold. He'd pressed her up against the door as soon as he had finished locking it behind them, both of their clothes impatiently discarded on the spot. "I was a bit rough."

She arched her eyebrow. "You won't hear me complaining," she said, touching her finger to the thick cord of muscle where his neck connected to his shoulder. There was a purpling mark there where she had bit him sometime during the night, either there at the door or later when they had finally reached her bed. She hadn't pegged herself to be a biter, thinking that out of the two of them, Nathaniel was more likely to employ his teeth than she. The bruise on the underside of her breast was proof enough of that. "It was exciting that you needed me so badly that you couldn't wait. I liked it." He'd been an incredibly gentle and giving lover since coming back from Amaranthine with Mistress Woolsey's salvaged goods two days ago, and it had been thrilling to be part of something so frenzied, so unrestrained that she'd found her release even without the usual prolonged foreplay Nathaniel was so fond of.

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. "Still..."

"Still nothing. Don't ever apologize for what we do together. I'm not about to hold back who I am when we come together and I hope that you can do the same."

He let out a relieved sounding breath. "I was afraid that I might scare you away." This was still so new between them and the last thing he wanted to do was foul things up.

Moira shook her head. "Not going to happen. You're stuck with me, Nate." She freed her hand from his grasp and trailed it down his chest, following the whorls of hair there that tapered down to a line at his navel before slowly going back up, her hand rounding over his side to splay against his back.

He bent his head and gave her a lingering kiss. "Good. I'll have you know that you're stuck with me as well, my lady." It felt I_right/i_ to be in bed without any intention to let things go further than a lazy exploration of the other's body, tangling limbs together and touching just to reassure the other that this was real.

"It's not quite daybreak," he murmured after a while. "I ought to get back to my room."

She made a protesting noise and buried her face against his collarbone. "Do you have to leave?" The two nights that they had spent together had been nightmare-free and they had both disliked parting ways each morning, if only to keep up appearances. "Do you really care what the others think? I'm positive they already know about us as it is." She shuddered as she remembered Oghren commenting about Nathaniel _"finally getting the stones to don the velvet hat,"_ as he had put it, giving Moira a lecherous chortle and a wink as he added _"and about sodding time, if you ask me. He's been too uptight since we've met him. Good for ya; a man needs a good hair pullin', back scratchin' romp every now and again."_ Out of everything that she had heard during her travels, _that_ had finally made her blush worse than anything Zevran had ever told her, which made Oghren laugh so hard at her mottled expression that he snorted. He laughed even harder when Velanna and Anders asked what was so funny, which if possible, had made Moira's face go even redder.

Nathaniel hugged her closer, the shelf of his chin resting against the crown of her head. "No, I can honestly say that I don't give a damn what the others think." His thumb ran in circles over her shoulder. "Yet I do need clean clothes. I'm going to have to go back to my room in order to get them."

She looked up at him and kissed his cheek. "That can be fixed. The armoire is far too large for just my things. If you want, you can keep your clothes there as well." She kept her tone casual and light, but she couldn't stop her heart from speeding up, hoping that he would accept her proposal.

"You'd want me to move in with you?"

"Well, it would cut the whole sneaking in the pre-dawn light episodes out completely. I will warn you, I tend to steal bedcovers."

He laughed. "And apparently I hog mattresses. I think we even the other out on that. Are you certain that you want to share a room with me?"

She arched an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

He ran the back of his knuckles over her cheek. "I don't have much; it might only take one or two trips."

Moira smiled. "I'll help out." Snuggling closer to him, she wrapped her arm around his side. "Now that that's finished, what are your plans for today?"

Nathaniel kissed her forehead. "I was going to scout around the land surrounding the Keep. While I was out, I thought it would be good to do a bit of hunting. I saw that the larder's supply of venison was running a bit low." With the increased appetite that came from being a Warden, Nathaniel had taken to sneaking down to the kitchens late at night to quiet his stomach's rumbling. He'd bumped into the others several times during his midnight explorations, so he knew that he wasn't the only one suffering from hunger pangs. "You?"

"Anders and I are going to work on resupplying the infirmary again and then I thought that Velanna and I would go out later today to find more healing herbs to dry." She and the Dalish elf weren't particularly close, and Moira wanted to remedy that. She knew that Velanna was anxious about finding her sister, but they still hadn't found any other leads to follow as to where the Darkspawn were. Captain Garevel had spoken about a man named Colbert who usually resided in Amaranthine, but the man was proving to be even more elusive than the so-called Dark Wolf had been. Until they received word from Colbert, it only made sense to shore up the Keep and remain vigilant for future attacks.

It might not be normal and they may not be at peace, but at least a routine was starting to form. It was more than they had a few months ago.

Nathaniel broke into her reverie. "You're thinking again," he said, smoothing the lines that appeared across her forehead. Now that they had decided to share a living space, he didn't feel the need to hurry up and leave. "Sometimes, I think you still take on far too much for just one person."

"I can't help it, that's just who I am."

"And there's nothing wrong with that, but just remember that everything needn't be done right this second."

She glanced up at the window, noting how the sky was still somewhat dark. "You're right," she told him. "Do you have any plans for the immediate future?"

His mouth quirked upwards. "Oh, nothing much. I was thinking about fooling around with an Arlessa. Then, perhaps breakfast."

Moira laughed, but stopped to let out a small gasp when he hitched her leg higher over his hip and rolled them across the bed. Still grinning, she reached up and tugged his mouth down to hers. "I think that can be arranged," she whispered, smiling against his lips. "I love you, Nathaniel." She seemed to realize what she had said, because she stiffened in his arms and looked up at him to gauge his reaction. _Stupid, Cousland, _she chided herself. _This is still so new and you have to go and complicate things by slipping and telling him how you feel. It's too soon, it's…_

He stopped her inner diatribe with a hard kiss that stole her breath. "I love you too," he breathed when he let them both up for air. "I never stopped, not once all those years. I might not say it often enough, but I hope you know that I'll always love you."

Moira beamed, feeling as if her heart were about to burst from happiness. "Make love to me, Nate," she murmured, dragging him down for another lingering kiss.

Outside, Vigil's Keep slowly came awake; the smell of freshly baking bread wafted through the kitchens, the idle chatter of the washing women chimed out as they started their day by pulling water from the well in the outer courtyard, the indignant squawk from several of the chickens echoed as Ser Pounce-a-Lot ran through the henhouse during his morning patrol of the grounds in search of his breakfast mouse. Neither Nathaniel or Moira heard any of it – they had eyes only for each other; the only sounds that reached their ears were their soft sighs and heartfelt declarations of love as dawn slowly rose over the horizon.


	26. the jealous kind

Title: The Jealous Kind  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #18; the wrong words  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: The green-eyed monster comes out to play at the appearance of a certain ex-Crow.  
Note: One of the things I missed while playing Awakening was having Zevran in my party. I'm betting he and Anders would have had some awesome in-game banter going back and forth. Again, English-Italian translation is a bit iffy; I'm completely open to any corrections! I was wibbling about the title of this, seeing that Santa Esmeralda's _Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood_ came on my playlist halfway through writing this. The guitar solo + Kill Bill Soundtrack = Zevran's theme in my head. ;)

* * *

Nathaniel _had_ intended on going out and hunting for deer that afternoon, but the lone elf bearing an incredibly recognizable facial tattoo on the road leading to the Keep derailed his plans. Stringing an arrow, he stepped out of the brush and glared.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't fire this arrow through your throat right now," he growled, pulling his arm back.

The elf stopped in his tracks and slowly raised his hands out from his sides. "I can give you several," he said, his thick Antivan accent further confirming Nathaniel's suspicion of his affiliation with the Crows. "One, it would make talking incredibly difficult. Two, I am completely unarmed, and three, your Arlessa would not be pleased to learn that a dear friend of hers was killed while visiting."

"Why would she have anything to do with you?" Nathaniel asked, nudging the elf in the back with the arrow. "Move."

The elf shrugged. "Such polite hospitality." Grinning, he began to walk towards the front gates. "And for your information, my dearest Moira has had _many_ uses for my varied talents." The lecherous smirk set Nathaniel's nerves on edge and he had to restrain himself from striking the elf on principle.

"We'll see what she has to say about that," he said instead, shoving his prisoner towards the entrance to the throne room.

Moira was standing near the dais talking to Captain Garevel when she must have noticed them come in. Nathaniel had a brief second to admire the fact that she had decided on wearing a dress for the day, the vibrant scarlet color making her stand out from the rest of the Hall. She turned her head towards them, squinting as she tried to see who Nathaniel's prisoner was.

Then her entire expression changed. Her face broke out into one of the widest smiles Nathaniel had ever seen and her eyes lit up. "_Zev!_" she yelled, picking up her skirts and running towards them.

"What did I tell you?" the elf – this _Zev_, and Nathaniel wasn't too keen on the enthusiastic way that Moira had greeted a potential assassin - asked, his tone cocky. His smile broadened when Moira reached them.

"What brings you back to the land of rain and dogs?" Moira asked, throwing her arms around him. Nathaniel scowled, but kept his distance, one hand on the hilt of his dagger, should anything happen.

"Is it not obvious? I have returned so that beautiful women can throw themselves at me on a regular basis." He held Moira at arm's length. "I also have some news that you might find interesting. Perhaps we could go somewhere more private, especially where there aren't any brutes breathing down my neck?"

Moira looked over his shoulder, almost as if she'd only just noticed Nathaniel standing there. "Zevran, anything you have to say to me can be said in front of Nathaniel."

Zevran whistled. "_Nathaniel_, is it? So, _this_ was my competition. Huh." He turned on his heel and slowly looked Nathaniel up and down, as if he were appraising him. Nathaniel sneered, which only made the elf's eyebrow wing up. The Antivan said something in his native tongue, but it was so rapid that Nathaniel couldn't catch what was said. It must not have been complimentary, because Zevran crossed his arms in front of his chest and gave him a dismissive glance. Moira shook her head and replied just as rapidly, which made him wonder if this was the person who had taught her the language. He could make out a little of what she said, especially the phrases _he is my choice_ and _I happen to think he's handsome._

"Come on," she said in their common language, her cheeks starting to redden. "We'll speak further in my office."

"Nice place," Zevran commented once they had closed the door. "Perfectly situated to avoid attacks from all angles, virtually no hiding places for assassins…" he stopped at the portrait of Rendon Howe. "Although it is somewhat lacking in style. You have _this_ man on your wall, really? My dear Warden, you must fire your decorator."

She rolled her eyes. "As much as I appreciate your input on interior design, my friend, I have to admit that it isn't a shock to see you."

"And here I was hoping to surprise you with a visit."

Moira sighed and sank into her office chair. "So, how much money did they offer for you to kill me this time?"

Nathaniel stared at her. "What do you mean, _this_ time?" He moved closer to Moira, putting a protective hand on the back of her chair.

Zevran laughed, his eyes sparkling merrily. "Oho, so he doesn't know?" He perched his hip against the side of Moira's desk. "I was contracted to kill the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden. It was supposed to be an easy job for a vast amount of money, but unfortunately, I hadn't counted on one of them being a deadly sex goddess who utterly defeated me."

"I did trounce you rather thoroughly, didn't I?" she asked, leaning her elbows against the desk. She smirked at Zevran's wounded expression.

"I was sore for days afterwards, _cara mia._ That's something that not even my most _vigorous_ of exploits could ever accomplish." He leaned forward and smirked. "Although it wounds me to think that you suspect me of taking money to kill you. After all we've been through, that hurts more than anything." He put his hand to his chest to illustrate his point.

"Well, it never hurts to ask. If you're not here to kill me, Arainai, then what are you here for?"

"I _would_ say that I'm here to warn you of an assassination attempt, but it seems as if I am too late, if you already know." He gave Nathaniel the Hairy Eyeball. "And by the way _il tuo ragazzaccio_ treated me at the gate, I see that you know the Crows were involved."

"Nathaniel and I had an altercation with some of your former colleagues, yes." She frowned, ignoring Zevran's dig on Nathaniel for the time being. "And what happened to my immunity from the Crows? Master Ignacio promised."

"Ah, yes. _That_. Ignacio was most perturbed when he learned of this recent contract on your life. He was also equally upset when he found out that several of his own had taken up the offer. I do believe that if you hadn't killed those three – and you did, didn't you?" He gave her an approving nod when she confirmed it. "Then he would have come down here and killed them himself. Perhaps he might have offered you their heads and hearts in a basket by way of an apology." Zevran stroked his chin and gave a thoughtful hum. "That does sound like something he would do. I am truly glad to see you alive, my dear. Three Crows are nothing to laugh about."

"They weren't much of a challenge. I was almost disappointed." She looked down. "They were young."

His eyes hardened. "And they chose their death, just as they chose their lifestyle."

She arched an eyebrow. "Like _you_ chose to join?"

Zevran winced. "What I meant was that they chose to ignore Ignacio's warnings. At the risk of inflating your ego, your reputation has spread to Antiva and there are precious few who would have taken on the contract, even if Ignacio had allowed it. Most Crows have taken to calling you Lady Death, especially after what happened in Denerim. The three that you fought must have been fools indeed. Such a pity that I hadn't arrived in time," he continued. "I would have so loved to join you in a fight, just like old times."

She gave him a faint smile. "I have to admit, I do miss fighting with you." She sat up straighter, her hands on the desk. "I have a proposition for you."

"_Finally._ I thought I'd never get into your bed."

"Shut up," she laughed. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Again, such a pity. You don't know what you're missing."

"I'll take my chances."

"Well, seeing that you're determined to disappoint me, what is it that you're proposing? Should I venture a guess that you're looking to employ my services?"

She nodded. "That would be correct. How much do you know of this attempt?"

"I know that Bann Esmerelle was the one behind it. I also know that she paid each assassin three hundred sovereigns to complete the deed." Zevran ticked off each point on his fingers. "My opinion is that you are worth far more, but then again, I am biased."

Moira looked at Nathaniel, who glanced back at her. He had decided that this Zevran person wasn't a threat and had melted into the background, wanting to see how Moira interacted with one of her old acquaintances. Now that his mind wasn't looking for ways to defend her from an attack, he recalled an offhand comment she had made when they first met again, about how some of her closest friends had initially wanted to kill her.

And he wasn't preoccupied enough any longer to realize that jealousy burned hot in his gut. He didn't care for the way that Zevran leered at Moira, or the covert way he was trying to look down the bodice of her dress. He also didn't like the comfortable manner that Moira held herself while they spoke. He'd only experienced Moira this much off her guard when they were alone together and Nathaniel had thought it to be something intimate that the two of them alone shared.

Zevran took notice of the silent look that went between them. He said something else, but it was so low that Nathaniel couldn't hear. Whatever it was, it made Moira blush. "No," she said firmly, trying not to smile. "You are _not_ going to see me naked. That's final."

His shoulders slumped. "Ah, the mysteries of the world will be forever denied to me. I am heartbroken."

"And I'm sure that you can find many women who would be more than willing to help you mend that broken heart of yours," she said mildly.

"You're right, I could. But back to business. For you, I will waive my usual consulting fee, traveling expenses, and other various deductions. Are there any specifics for how you wish the deed to be done?"

Moira took a breath. "I don't want to do this. It sinks us down to her level."

Nathaniel put his hands on her shoulders as a show of support. "I'd rather be at her level than always be on guard for an attack."

Zevran gave Nathaniel a thoughtful look. "He has a point. At least you made certain to fall for a reasonable man."

She sighed, her hands reaching up to cover Nathaniel's. "Make each look like an accident, Zev. That's all I ask."

"It will be done." The teasing look faded from his face and he stood up from the desk. "I know that you never enjoyed the implications of the lessons I taught you, but there are times when those skills are necessary, yes?"

"Yes, you're right. Bann Esmerelle isn't working alone; we have strong reasons to believe that there are more nobles from Amaranthine cooperating with her. Ser Temmerly is currently residing in our dungeon. Perhaps your particular type of persuasion might get something out of him where I failed." Nathaniel might not have been able to see her expression from where he stood behind her, but there was something about her that had changed.

Zevran nodded his head in approval, his lips twisting into a smirk. "Ah, _there_ is my _Morte di Signora_. I was wondering where she had gone," he said softly. "Perhaps when this business is all over, you and I will have an opportunity to enjoy the other's company and talk about old times. Tell me if I am wrong, but did I happen to catch sight of our favorite drunken berserker in the hallway?"

Moira laughed, seeming more like herself. "Yes, you did see Oghren."

"Ah. Then perhaps we shall sit back and reminisce with a bottle of fine Antivan wine I was thoughtful enough to bring with me. You Fereldans have watered down swill in comparison."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. And yet you still keep on coming back."

He shrugged. "What can I say? I chose to have the finest friends who happen to live in the worst places."

He tilted his head. "I should be going. As a professional, I pride myself on getting the job done swiftly and thoroughly. It wouldn't do if I were seen leaving your home and then shortly after, one of Bann Esmerelle's allies meeting their demise. In the meantime, you should not go without a weapon."

Moira shook her head. "I always keep a blade or two on me at all times." She pulled up the bell sleeve to her overdress, exposing the tightly fitting sleeve of the underdress. She had strapped a holster high up on her forearm that was full of thin throwing knives. The intricate brocade pattern along the sleeve actually camouflaged the leather, so should her overdress slip upwards, it would be difficult to know that she was actually walking around armed. "And besides, I have the finest bodyguard I could ever want." She smiled warmly up at Nathaniel, her hand squeezing his.

Nathaniel tried not to puff out his chest, but he didn't think that he succeeded.

"And on that note," Zevran said, "I shall take my leave. Take care, my dear."

Nathaniel pushed the door closed after the assassin had left. For good measure, he also locked it, making sure that they were not to be interrupted.

"I expect you have some questions," Moira said, stirring the fire that blazed in the hearth with a metal poker.

"A few."

"More than likely pertaining to my friendship with Zevran." She sank down into one of the high backed chairs next to the fireplace. "I told you that I met and befriended an assassin during the Blight. Like he said, Zevran was sent to kill Alistair and me, and it was pure luck that he didn't manage to pull it off."

"Who sent him?"

Moira looked at the fire. "Your father and Teyrn Loghain." She hated admitting it, because every time that Nathaniel asked about her past, it seemed as if Rendon was always there trying to kill her. She could tell that every instance was chipping away the figure Nathaniel had thought his father once was and she could see the growing resentment he held for the man he thought he had known.

Nathaniel grimaced and sat down in the chair opposite to hers. "Father was rather determined to see you dead," was all he said, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I'm glad that his plans were thwarted."

"As am I."

"What happened in Denerim? And what deal did you strike with this Master Ignacio? This is the second time that you've mentioned that name."

Moira turned her head towards him. "When Zevran failed to complete the contract on my life, his own life was made forfeit. The Crows are not a group that fosters loyalty amongst its members by being a loving, caring organization. Zev is one of the finest assassins in Antiva, killing him would open the way for others to climb higher in the hierarchy and take his place. And seeing that his attempt at killing me hadn't gone over so well, the contract was wide open for others to accept it and the reward Loghain offered." She fussed with the sleeve of her dress. "They struck a little before the Landsmeet, ambushing us in one of Denerim's alleys. Alistair, Zevran, and I were caught unaware, but the three of us managed to take on a little under ten highly skilled Crows without suffering major damage.

"Ignacio was keeping tabs on the developments. He tracked us down and asked me to complete a set of tasks for him. I was to assassinate several people on his list as well as retrieve a boy held for ransom. In return, Ignacio promised that I would never be hunted again and that he would order the Crows to cease all attempts on Zevran's life for leaving the organization, basically making him a free man for the first time in his life."

Nathaniel listened to her, trying to absorb everything that she had just said. "And you did this without blinking, didn't you?"

She nodded. "For Zev's freedom and to save my own life, yes."

He noticed her choice of words, where she put someone else above her own life. "Did you sleep with him?"

The question took her by surprise. "_Zevran?_" She sat up straighter and choked out a laugh. "Whatever would make you think _that_?"

He glared at the fire. "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps it was the casual body language both of you had, or all the 'my dear' endearments he threw your way." He looked at her crossly. "Or maybe it was the way that you didn't slap him when he looked down your bodice or asked to see you naked."

She looked at him incredulously. "I don't believe this. You're _jealous_."

"And if I am?" There was no sense in denying it. "I just witnessed the woman whom I just confessed to this very morning that I loved her run into the arms of another man and then proceed to flirt outrageously with him while I was still in the same room."

"Nathaniel, that's…" She stood up and went towards his chair. Their first spat and it was over something like this. "That is just the way he is. The day that he stops flirting with _anyone_, male or female, is the day that I worry about his mental well-being." She thought for a bit. "The only reason he didn't act that way with you was because he said you pointed an arrow in his face. That tends to be a black mark in his book."

"Ah, yes, and 'trouncing him thoroughly' while he_ tried to kill you_ means nothing."

She ran her hands through her hair. She'd never seen Nathaniel worked up in such a state, and she was at a loss as to how to proceed. "Every friendship needs to start somewhere," she told him. "Nate, Zevran and I fought for months together during the Blight. He taught me everything I know about being an assassin and in return, I think I became one of the few friends he had that happened to be female."

"Was he the one who taught you Antivan and your knife dances?"

"The dances, yes. The language, no. I asked my sister-in-law to teach me so that she wouldn't be so homesick in Highever. Zevran merely added some more colorful phrases to my vocabulary."

He scowled. "And the remark that I was his competition?"

Moira bit her lip. "I'll be honest with you; Zevran did try to seduce me once early on in our friendship. And before you ask, yes, I did refuse him. I told him that I wasn't available, that I was involved with you." She wanted to tell him what Zevran had said in the Throne Room, about her horrible taste in men who did nothing but frown and sneer, but she thought that it might be the wrong thing to say at the time.

He uncrossed his arms. "You told him that?"

She nodded. "I did." She leaned over and brushed her lips over his forehead. "You've always been the only man I've ever wanted." Gathering her skirts up in one hand, she slid into his lap, her knees straddling his hips. "I've never loved anyone the way that I love you, Nathaniel." She cupped his face in her palms and kissed him, only slightly worried when the chair they were sitting in creaked under their combined weight.

He smoothed his hands over her backside and down, frowning when he encountered something that broke the line of her thigh. "What…?" Lifting the hem of her dress, he saw that she had a dagger strapped to each of her legs.

She laughed against his mouth. "I told you that I walk around fully armed at all times," she told him, standing up and pulling him to his feet as well. She walked backwards until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of her desk.

"Well, I have to give him one thing," Nathaniel admitted, boosting her up on the desk. "You _are _truly_ Una Dea mortale del sesso._"

"You know Antivan?" His accent wasn't quite as fluent as a native speaker, but his voice still sent delightful shivers up her spine.

"I spent eight years near the border. I picked up a little here and there."

She ran her hands down his chest. "Aren't you just full of surprises."

He kissed her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "_Lasciami dimostrare._"


	27. holding out for a hero

Title: Holding out for a Hero  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #28; dust  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: PG for violence. Spoilers abound, especially in the author's note below.  
Summary: Moira is faced with important decisions and would like some reassurance that she's doing the right thing. Nathaniel gives an awkward "You hurt my sister and I hurt you" threat to his brother-in-law.  
Note: And here's the main action bit, all compressed into one chapter! I've always saved the city when given the choice close to the end and I kind of disliked the epilogue bits that happened when I decided to save the Keep this go around. I hated what happened to Varel, mainly because I've developed a bit of a crush on his character. This is a tiny bit of a step to the side of canon, mostly on the part of letting _everyone_ in Amaranthine suffer the consequence of me siding with the Keep, as well as keeping Varel around so he could continue to be the Seneschal of Awesomeness.

* * *

"Oh no." Nathaniel stopped dead in his tracks right before they reached the main gates to Vigil's Keep. "Not again."

Moira shaded her eyes with her hand and sighed. "Another mob?" She sounded just as tired as he felt. They had been coming back from the Knotwood Hills after eradicating the darkspawn breeding nest in Kal'Hirol and she, Oghren, their newest recruit Sigrun, and himself were bone-weary from the ordeal. Moira said that she had never seen so many broodmothers in one place, and it was a chilling reminder that even though the Blight had been quieted before it had really begun, that the threat of new darkspawn was still an everyday reality.

"I don't know." Nathaniel squinted. "Something isn't right." The four of them quickly made their way up to the Keep where they found a great number of people milling around the outer courtyard, most looking frightened and worried.

"What is going on?" Moira asked, finding Anders kneeling amongst a group of grubby looking children.

"Oh, nothing much," he replied airily, completing a healing spell. Standing up, he brushed his knees off with his hand. "Just the annual exodus from Amaranthine." He smiled at the children, who looked a little less frightened than they had a moment before, before drawing Moira out of earshot. "There's a darkspawn army amassing and headed towards Amaranthine. We got as many people out of the city as we possibly could."

"Brother!"

Nathaniel's head snapped up when he heard his sister call out to him. "What's going on, Nathaniel?" she asked once he got to her, her eyes wide.

"I don't know," he replied. "Where's your husband?"

Delilah pointed to where the Keep's meager army was handing out weapons. "Your fellow Wardens came and evacuated the city. We've been here since last night." She curled her arms protectively around her midsection.

"Don't worry," Nathaniel said, gathering his sister in his arms. He looked the scene in the courtyard over, mentally counting all the people – his people, _their_ people – who were just as frightened as Delilah was. "Everything is going to be all right. I'll make certain of it, I swear."

She kissed his cheek. "You always did look out for us when we were younger," she told him. "What are you going to do?"

Nathaniel looked towards Moira, who was speaking to Varel and Captain Garevel. He couldn't make out what was being said, but he inferred that she was getting caught up on the events that had begun to take place in their absence. She looked completely in charge and Nathaniel realized just then that he wasn't merely looking at Moira; he was getting a glimpse of the Warden-Commander who had cut down an archdemon and had lived to tell the tale. "I'm going to follow our Arlessa."

"Nathaniel," Moira said, striding up to them with a determined glint in her eye. "I need to know if there's anywhere safe we can lead the women and children to."

"The cellars are an option," he said. "We've made sure that they're secure, and we can probably hold half of the people there."

"The rest will have to stay inside the throne room," Moira finished. "The hall is large enough to keep everyone safe, and it's in the most defendable position." The throne room had held during the first siege she had fought in the Keep; it would hold for another. Besides, she was determined not to let the darkspawn overrun the Keep. If anything, the outer courtyard would serve as a last stand. "Delilah, I'm going to need your help getting everyone situated. Do you know if there are any injured people?"

"No, everyone was healthy. There were a few sick folk in Amaranthine, but they haven't been evacuated just yet. Constable Aiden stayed behind with a small number of guards to get them out."

"Good. We need to get this courtyard cleared and everyone safely hidden." Varel had informed her that he had assigned people atop the battlements to act as an early alert should they spy anything amiss and she wanted to make certain that plans were in place before they shouted out warnings. She gave Nathaniel a look, which he returned. Without another word, she broke away and began organizing people to escort those unable to fight to safety.

"Nathaniel," Delilah said, grasping onto his arms. "Albert is a good man, but he isn't much of a fighter," she told him, her eyes wide. "Promise me that he'll live to see his child born."

"Delilah…"

"Nate, _please_. Promise me."

"I promise." The vow tasted bitter on his tongue, but he would do everything in his power to make sure that his sister's husband drew breath at the end of this. "But you promise me something as well. Should the Keep fall, make for Father's library." The room on the right side of the throne room was well known to both of them; generations of Howes had been taught at a young age that should something dire ever happen and they were in need of a quick, unseen exit, all they had to do was run to the family library and press upon a certain wall sconce. The bookshelf on the far end of the room would slide away, exposing a hidden tunnel leading down and away from the Keep. The winding path eventually ended at a cavern only a mile or so away from Denerim. "Take as many people as you possibly can, but make sure that you save yourself. I've already lost one sibling to these foul beasts, I'll be damned if I lose another when there's something that can be done."

She wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing tightly. "I promise. Maker watch over you, Brother."

He dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. "Maker watch over us all." He watched as she ran towards her husband, as the man clutched her against him and kissed her passionately before letting her go.

"You must be Albert," he said as he joined him, picking up a blade and handing it to a nearby farmer. _Maker, these would-be soldiers are but boys and men used to farming equipment instead of swords._

"And you must be Delilah's brother. She speaks fondly of you."

"Can you fight?"

Albert nodded. "I know that I'm not as well trained as others, but I know how to defend myself."

Nathaniel grimly looked him over. His brother-in-law held himself well, his hand on the handle of his axe. He had promise, and Nathaniel hoped that he had enough skill to keep himself alive.

Meanwhile, Moira and Oghren were eying the front gates. "They'll hold," Oghren reassured her, handing her a stamina drought even as he drained one himself.

"I'm more concerned about the people behind the gates instead," she replied, feeling slightly better with the potion in her system. It wouldn't do for a long-term solution to her fatigue, but at least it would keep her alert during the upcoming battle.

He elbowed her. "Guess that you're gonna have to give one of those rousing speeches then. Let them know that us Wardens have faith in them and all that."

She bit her lip. "I never wanted this," she confessed. "I'm not a leader, I'm…" _I'm the daughter of a nobleman whose biggest fear two years ago would have been saying the wrong thing at an estate dinner. The most stressful thing I would have been required to organize would have been the menu, not worrying that any move I made would mean life or death for hundreds of people._ "I'm going to get us all killed." This was different than the Blight. These were people that she had come to know, not soldiers trained in battle. Besides, Alistair had been the one to give the speeches, to rally everyone. She had just stood behind him and looked on encouragingly. She curled her hands into fists. Seeing women holding babies to their breasts while pleading for her to save them had shaken her confidence. So many lives were at stake, not just her own.

"Asschabs," Oghren spat. "So you weren't born a leader. Not many of 'em are. You honestly think that you killed the sodding archdemon purely by luck? Warden, we followed you back then because you made things _right_ wherever we went. You kicked ass and took names after, and you saved a helluva lot of people along the way. I follow you now because I _still_ believe in you. We all do."

Moira let out a breath. "I thought that I was supposed to give the rousing speech," she joked.

He shrugged. "Well, sometimes ya gotta take the nug by the horns an' give it yer all."

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, my friend."

"Hey, hey, hey. Don't get all sentimental on me. Your sweetheart'll bound to get jealous. Not that I'd blame him; I always knew you were itchin' to sample some Oghren lovin'." The leer he gave was enough to shake her out of her self-doubt, which Moira knew had been his main aim.

"Commander," Varel said, running up to them. "Our scouts have spied darkspawn forces gathering on Amaranthine."

"Constable Aiden and his guards are still there," Moira said. "We can't leave them."

Varel nodded. "I was hoping that you would say that. What is your command?"

Moira looked at Oghren. "You don't gotta say anything," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest and giving her an anticipatory smirk. "I've got your back, Cousland."

"The city isn't far from here," Moira said, reckoning that if they didn't run into any opposition, then they could make it there before the bulk of the horde did. They'd have to make a hasty retreat, but hopefully they could gather the constable's men and survivors and make it back to the Keep quickly. "I'll take a small group of Wardens and be back shortly."

"You aren't going anywhere without me," Nathaniel said, coming up towards them.

"Or me." Anders tucked Ser Pounce-a-Lot into his pack and tugged on the straps at his shoulders.

"You sure about this, Sparkle Fingers?" Oghren asked. "It might be a suicide mission for all we know."

Anders quirked his eyebrow. "Call me crazy, but I like to live on the edge." Pounce poked his head out of Anders' pack and meowed.

"Then it's settled. Varel, protect the Keep while we're gone." Moira stared at the courtyard, praying that the upgrades and armor that she'd commissioned from both Voldrick and Wade would give them an advantage.

* * *

"The city is taken," Constable Aiden reported, wiping blood out of his eye. "Those injured have been infected with the Taint. If we take them with us, they'll surely infect the others."

Moira shook her head. "There have to be survivors who are well enough to move." She held her arm tightly against her side, her blood seeping out from underneath her armor. Anders was already at her elbow, his hands tingling with healing magic.

"Commander! More darkspawn approach!" Nathaniel's bow automatically went up at the guard's shout, his arrow trained on the lone darkspawn on the road.

"Nathaniel, wait," Moira said, her hand on his forearm. "Do you see something familiar?"

"It is one of the talking ones," he agreed, the hand holding back his bowstring relaxing. He didn't let go of the bow, but followed Moira as she approached the darkspawn. They both listened as it explained how the Mother had set a trap; that while they were here in the city, she had another force waiting to attack Vigil's Keep.

"We need to get back," Moira said, turning towards Aiden and Nathaniel. "We need to move the survivors that aren't infected and get back."

"The city is taken," Nathaniel told her, shaking his head. "Darkspawn have overrun it."

"But…"

He held onto her uninjured arm and squeezed. "Think for a moment; do you want to waste time looking for survivors that may or may not be infected by the Taint while fighting off darkspawn that could be better spent running back to the Keep to defend the bulk of our people?"

"We're leaving people to die here, Nathaniel." She knew what had to be done, but her mind was still looking for a way to save both the city and the Keep. Unfortunately, she couldn't find a middle ground.

Nathaniel's fingers tightened on her upper arm. "Moira, you can't protect everyone. Decide how many you want to save." He looked at her desperately. "Think of the women in the Keep. Do you want them to share the same fate as those we saw in Kal'Hirol?" His mind frantically went to the thought of his sister screaming in the dark, her features disfigured as she howled. He would do anything to protect her, and by the way Moira grimaced, he knew she would do the same.

Aiden came towards them. "Commander? What are your orders?"

Moira closed her eyes and bowed her head. "Andraste and the Maker forgive me." Turning, she unsheathed one of her swords and stalked towards the Architect's messenger. The darkspawn had a brief second to realize what its fate was before Moira's blade sliced its head off its shoulders. "Set fire to Amaranthine. Burn it and the darkspawn inside to the ground. We kill every one of those bastards that we come across."

Nathaniel watched as she stared unblinking at the archers, their arrows blazing through the night sky. Others might not have seen it, but he caught the way she flinched when rooftops caught fire. "We need to make it back to the Keep," was all she said, her tone brittle as she wiped a smudge of blood off her cheek. Nathaniel kept up beside her as they went down the road, his hand curling over hers as a show of support.

Behind them, the screams of the people left behind reached their ears over the crackle of the fire. Moira stiffened, listening as pleas to the Maker fell on deaf ears, but she refused to look back. Nathaniel squeezed her fingers, but her hand remained slack in his. Where her eyes had once held a determined glint, Nathaniel saw that they were now dead and flat. They didn't once speak on the way back to the Keep.

* * *

Dust from the battle swirled around Anders, his hands weaving in complicated patterns as he called magic forth from the tip of his staff, a dark cloud enveloping a large area near the eastern side gate. Thunder rumbled and lighting struck their enemies in a violent chain reaction. A testament to Anders' skill, none of their allies were hit. Darkspawn children screamed and through the strobe-like effect of lighting, Nathaniel could see Moira in the midst of the action. She and Oghren fought back to back, the dwarf protecting Moira's flank as usual while she snuck behind and caught her foe unaware. Nathaniel stood beside Anders, protecting the mage while he cast offensively and threw the occasional healing spell around their allies, just as they had always done, until the east side was cleared.

"We're needed back at the front gates!" Garevel shouted. The roar that came from the area sent chills down Moira's back.

"No," she whispered, staring in horror as Varel was scooped up by an ogre, his body flopping around limply as the ogre let loose another roar in her seneschal's unconscious face. Her mind flashed back to Ostagar, to Lothering and the Deep Roads. Duncan and Riordan also came to mind, as did everyone she had left to die amid darkspawn and flames. "Enough!" she shouted, running towards the ogre. She stabbed at it with her swords, making it drop its prisoner. Varel fell to a heap next to Moira, and the sight only fueled her anger. She was _tired_ of losing those that she knew to the darkspawn. Adrenaline surging through her veins, she ducked the ogre's fist and lunged at it, launching herself at its chest. She screamed in rage as she plunged one of her swords hilt-deep into its neck, hot blood all but drenching her arms and making her hold slippery. She stabbed her other sword into its eye, ignoring the squelching sound of her blade slicing through soft tissue and the jarring impact of hitting bone. She let go as the ogre fell to its knees, jumping off and covering Varel's body with hers to shield him from the worst of the blow.

"Commander," he wheezed, staring up at her. "Did we…win?"

Moira screamed for a medic, fumbling at her belt for healing potions she kept on her at all times. "We did," she said, gently tilting his head back so he could swallow the contents of the bottle. "The Keep is secure." Her hands shook as she took in the twisted metal of his armor and how it crumpled inwards, dark blood seeping from his wounds.

"I'm done for," Varel murmured, holding onto her hand. "It was an honor serving you, my Arlessa."

"Don't talk like that," she told him fiercely, breaking the seal of yet another potion and forcing it down his throat. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a faint blue light enveloping him. Anders knelt at their side, his hands warm as he cast a regeneration spell over both of them.

"It looks bad," he said, his voice grave. "But I think I can stabilize him enough for us to move him into the throne room." He waved his hand over Varel's face. "Sleep." At the command and subsequent surge of magic, Varel's entire body went limp in Moira's arms.

"No more death," Moira said, her voice flat. "There's been enough today to last a lifetime."

"I heartily agree with you, my dear. Unfortunately, I think we're up for yet another wave at the front." Anders pointed to where more heretic disciples were beginning to flood the area. "Go. I've got this."

Moira ran towards the front gates, taking a breath to slip into the shadow form she and Nathaniel had been working on for the past few weeks. While it had taken her a while to master it, she could now move in complete stealth quite easily. She was thankful that he had taught her how, especially now that she needed all the chances to gain the upper hand as possible. Gritting her teeth, she snuck up on one of the disciples and slit its throat before it even had a chance to cast a spell. Quickly leaving it to fall to the dust with a thud, she moved on to the next.

* * *

"Come at me, you thunderhumping sons of whores!" Oghren bellowed, swinging his axe as the darkspawn turned their attention to him instead of the farmers who were quickly fatiguing. "That's right. Come to Oghren." _Ah, Felsi,_ he thought, slicing through heads and arms as if they were made out of water. _I only wish I had a chance to tell ya how sorry I am that I wasn't the family type ya deserve._ He could feel his own arms tiring, even though the number of enemies around him was slowly dwindling. _If I'm gonna die here, I'm gonna go out with a bang. _He grunted and tried to find his second wind, drawing breath to break out into song. "There once was a maid from Orlais…"

* * *

Nathaniel had long since run out of arrows, abandoning his bow in favor for the twin daggers he kept at his belt. His heart raced as he realized that he had lost track of Moira in the fray, and the distraction had almost caused him a near miss with a darkspawn axe. His head whipped to the left when he heard a shout, his eyes widening as he saw Albert surrounded by genlocks. Nathaniel ran to his side, slashing at any opponents that got in his way. He performed a quick move that upset the balance of one of the genlocks, which was enough to give him an opening. Nathaniel silently thanked Moira for teaching him the duelist skills needed to pinpoint vital organs from any angle as he scored a critical hit from behind. The strike was even deadlier now that he had learned the assassin's lacerate talent, which he grudgingly gave a nod to Zevran for being the one to teach the skill to Moira, who had in turn taught it to Nathaniel.

"Thanks," Albert panted as they finished off their enemies.

"Delilah would kill me if I let you die," Nathaniel told him, wiping sweat from his brow. Bending down, he picked up enough stray arrows to refill his quiver.

Albert let out a tiny laugh. "She's scary when she's angry," he agreed, turning to face off a Hurlock that had made its way towards them.

Nathaniel drew back his bow and let loose an arrow. The Hurlock fell to the ground with a grunt, Nathaniel's arrow in its forehead. "Then let's do our best to keep her happy." He meant his comment to come out as 'let's make sure that we both stay alive,' but it came out as the veiled threat that he hadn't had a chance to give his sister's husband. Arching his brow, he gave his brother-in-law a pointed look. "She's not the only one who's scary when they're upset."

Albert gulped. "Noted."

* * *

Moira's entire body shook with fatigue as she darted into the armored ogre's blind side. She took the opportunity to catch her breath, as well as to check how the battle was going around her. She couldn't take everything in, but it seemed as if things were going well. The ground shook and she caught a flash of flame out of the corner of her eye. The scent of burnt lyrium settled thickly in the air, signaling that Dworkin's bombs were being utilized.

"Woah!" Sigrun shouted, rolling out of the range of the ogre's fist. "Who would have thought they'd have sense enough to _arm_ these guys?"

"I don't know," Moira replied, finding a point in the armor to strike. She climbed up the ogre's body, trying to find a spot against its throat to send her sword into. She let out a grunt when the ogre easily shook her off, her back hitting the ground hard enough to send stars dancing in her vision.

"Move it, both of you!" Velanna yelled from the front gate's battlement. Sigrun was able to drag Moira out of the way fast enough to avoid the large patch of roots that shot out of the ground at their feet. The roots quickly enveloped the ogre, finding all the gaps in its armor to wind their way through. The two of them watched as the roots suddenly developed large thornlike barbs that the ogre couldn't defend against, eventually falling.

"Is that all?" Sigrun asked, her daggers dripping with dark blood.

"I think so," Moira said. "Wait. There." She pointed to where Justice was, the Fade Spirit's shield protecting him from the worst of the blows a larger darkspawn was attacking. "Maverlies!" Moira shouted. "Arrows to the front gate!"

"Yes, Commander!"

"We're going to need to flank him, probably on both sides," Sigrun commented, running alongside Moira.

"You're not going to do much good with a cracked skull," Velanna said dryly, casting a healing spell over Moira. Almost instantly, the pounding headache that had blossomed at the back of Moira's head disappeared.

It was a long battle, but they finally managed to bring the Herald to his knees. "You might have gotten me," he laughed, black blood bubbling from his lips, "But the Mother will never fall to the likes of you!"

"You and your kind have slaughtered innocents," Justice said, his face impassive. "The Mother will share your fate." With that, Justice swung his mace back, catching the Herald on the side of his head. There was a crack as the Herald's skull fractured, then the darkspawn fell.

"What were our damages?" Moira asked, turning from the scene behind her.

"The Keep's walls have held, Commander," Captain Garevel reported. "We have suffered many injuries yet few fatalities. The militia from the farmlands was hit the worst, and our infantry has seen better days. Varel…"

"Is quite all right," Anders interrupted, coming up and dusting his hands off. "He's sleeping still, but I managed to heal the worst of it. He might not be up for dancing the Remigold any time soon, but he'll recover."

Moira let out a breath. "Thank you, Anders."

"The darkspawn have fled," Maverlies supplied. "They're leaving a path that even the greenest of trackers could make out."

Moira nodded. "They're more than likely retreating to the Mother's lair. We can't let them escape."

Nathaniel slung his bow across his back. "Are you proposing that we chase them down tonight?" He could see the way that she shook, how they all looked as if they could use a good rest.

She turned to him. "Yes. We need to end this while we still have the upper hand. If we wait any longer, then it only gives the Mother another chance to rebuild her army."

"I know, but…"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you want what happened in Amaranthine to happen here?" Even from where they were, Moira imagined that she could see the curling black smoke rise from the ruined town.

He nearly stepped back from her sharp reply. "You know that I don't." He crossed his arms over his chest. "It was…"

"It was _what_, Nathaniel?" She clenched her hands into fists at her side. Taking a breath, she closed her eyes and slowly exhaled. They didn't need to fight, especially now. "It doesn't matter. What is done is done. Who is going with me?"

"Count me in," Oghren said, taking a swig out of his wineskin.

"Me too," Anders chimed in, wiping his mouth as he finished up a lyrium potion. The effects were immediate; he suddenly perked up where he had seemed to droop from exhaustion before.

"You know that I'm going," Nathaniel said.

"Then it's decided. Justice and Sigrun, I need you two to help keep watch for any threats that might spring up once we're gone."

Sigrun nodded. "We can do that."

"Velanna, I'm going to need you to help heal those that were injured."

"Very well."

Moira saw that the Dalish mage was somewhat reluctant to help humans, but was grateful that she hadn't refused outright. "The rest of you, make certain that the Keep is fortified. Aiden, see to those in the cellars. Captain Garevel, report to Mistress Woolsey and the rest of the nobles in the throne room. With Varel out of commission, I'm appointing you in charge while I'm away."

Captain Garevel blinked at her as if he hadn't quite heard her correctly. "I…it will be done, Commander."

Moira shook her head. "Good. Our main goal is to make certain that the Keep remains safe, but we also need to reassure everyone inside. Have the cooks prepare something to calm everyone's nerves and see to it that there are places for everyone to rest for the evening." _And for the foreseeable future,_ Moira mentally added. There was no way that anyone was going to be heading back to Amaranthine any time soon.

"Your orders will be followed to the letter," Garevel reassured her. "Stay safe, and come back to us quickly, all of you."

* * *

"So, this is where dragons go to die," Anders commented, winding his way through the enormous skeletal ribcage. He leaned against one of the bones, trying to catch his breath. Drake's Fall had been too quiet; the Childer grubs that had ambushed them had nearly gotten the drop, had it not been for Nathaniel's warning. They'd barely had enough time to dart out of the way before a high dragon had swooped down, killing the grubs with one mighty blast of fire. The dragon had been tough, but it hadn't stood a chance against Oghren's axe or Moira's blades. The dwarf had jumped atop its head and repeatedly hacked at the dragon's neck until he had beheaded the beast while she had slicing at its vulnerable belly from underneath.

"Stay sharp," Moira said, picking through the still smoking ruin. Using her dagger, she pried off a dark black scale and stowed it away in the pouch at her belt. They made their way silently down the winding stairs, finding strange crystals along the way. Anders had been the one to insist on keeping them, saying that they might come in handy later on. He was right; they found four niches to place them in at the bottom of the first stairwell after fighting their way through shrieks and other darkspawn. Moira didn't know what the crystals had activated, but there was a definite hum of magic as soon as the fourth one had been put in place.

The last two crystals needed to complete the next set were blocked by the Architect. Moira had listened as he rationally explained why the darkspawn needed Wardens. The idea of more sentient darkspawn intrigued Moira, as did the thought that the cycle of Blights could be put to an end. Then she thought about it. Darkspawn who thought for themselves would never be accepted by the rest of Thedas, meaning that there would be even more death – death to the Wardens whose blood would have been used to awaken the darkspawn and the darkspawn themselves – that would be absolutely unnecessary.

If anything, Moira was fed up with unnecessary death. Anders had been the only one to voice his opinion before she chose to defeat the Architect, and like him, she thought that Oghren and Nathaniel would have been behind her in her decision. While Oghren hadn't been too upset with her choice, she could all but feel Nathaniel's disappointment in her. She had looked at him and had taken a few steps backward once she saw just how angry he was with her.

Kneeling down, Moira set the crystals in their niche. Like everything else, speaking to Nathaniel about what had just happened would have to wait.

* * *

The Mother was even more monstrous than she had been in Nathaniel's nightmare. While she might have gained sentience, she had definitely lost her sanity a long time ago. Ser Pounce-a-Lot had snuck his head out of Anders' satchel, and the cat's ears had flattened all the way back against its skull at the sound of the Mother's screech. Pounce hissed once, then dived back into the depths of the bag for the duration of the fight.

"Watch the tentacles!" Moira yelled, moving out of the way. She slashed at the ones in her reach, causing the Mother to howl in pain. At her cry, Nathaniel heard answering screeches from all around them.

"Grubs!" he warned, pulling his arrow back high in the air. He drew a breath and rapidly fired, sending multiple arrows raining down upon the bulk of the wave.

"Watch where yer shootin' them things!" Oghren groused, shaking his arm. Luckily, his heavy armor had deflected the arrow. Nathaniel didn't have time to apologize, mainly because he was more interested in trying to keep Moira alive. Things would inot/i end like they had in his nightmare, he swore. The swarms of Childer grubs and tentacles defeated, Moira had run straight up to the Mother. Nathaniel saw her move her arms in a Mark of Death before avoiding the Mother's main tentacles. He pulled back the last of his arrows, piercing the Mother in the chest, before running up to help Mora.

It was strange, Moira thought. Defeating a being that had caused so much harm, so much death, should have been a lot harder. Anders had sent a sizzling bolt of lighting at the Mother's face that had stunned her, giving Moira an opening to take a dagger and jam it into the Mother's skull. The smell of darkspawn and other darker things was overwhelming, and she fought to keep her gorge down.

"Do you have any more juice left to get rid of this mess?" she asked Anders, who was leaning against his staff.

"Sorry, Commander. I'm all out." He reached up next to his shoulder where Pounce had started to climb out of the satchel and scratched the cat's ears. "But I think I figured out what those crystals we collected were for." Drawing forth the last of his magical strength, Anders summoned up a ball of fire. He closed his eyes, murmuring something that the rest of them couldn't quite catch, before throwing the flame at the Mother's corpse. With a flick of his fingers, the ball of flame erupted into an inferno, the blast of heat actually making Moira take a step back and her hair flutter backwards off her shoulders.

"Nice move there, Sparkle Fingers," Oghren said, clearly impressed as the Mother and the rest of the childer bodies were reduced to ash. "Never knew you had it in you."

"I didn't," Anders confessed, shaking even more now that the spell was complete. "We have Trevinter magic amplifiers to thank for that little display."

Moira ducked under his arm, wrapping her arms around him for support. "Come on," she said, giving Anders a slight hug that he weakly returned. "Let's go home. We've all deserved a rest."

* * *

Moira had wanted to forgo a bath in favor of seeing to her people, but one look at herself in a hall mirror had changed her mind. She looked as if someone had dipped her in blood, her hair matted into thick clumps from it. What was left of her armor was a complete loss, and now that the battle was over, she felt every single one of her injuries she had gained that Anders hadn't been able to heal. Limping to her bedroom, she sank against the doorframe.

"Jillian is a saint," she muttered aloud, looking at the tub of steaming water that was waiting for her, even with the Keep being in complete disarray. She didn't care if it had been ice cold, she _needed_ to get clean. Her hands fumbled at the buckles to her armor, and she was about to slice through them in frustration when she felt Nathaniel's hands cover hers, his fingers deftly removing what she couldn't.

"I'd have to agree," he replied, closing the door behind them. He watched as Moira absently stripped out of the remainder of her clothing and weaved her way towards the tub. "Do you think there's room for two?"

"Oh, I think so." She sank into the water with a sigh, wincing slightly as the scented oil stung against the various cuts and scrapes on her body. Nathaniel slid in behind her, and it felt wonderful just to settle against the solid bulk of him, to feel his arms come around and cradle her against his chest.

Of course, that meant she had to ruin the moment. "You're still angry with me, aren't you?" she asked quietly, taking the bar of soap and lathering her arms. Dried blood flaked away, turning the water pink. "About killing the Architect."

Nathaniel tensed, pausing from scrubbing his fingernails over his scalp. "I'm not angry," he told her, keeping suds out of his eyes.

"I could have put an end to the Blights. This most recent archdemon would have been the last that Thedas would have ever had to face."

"That's true," he said slowly, using the ewer nearby to rinse his hair. Setting the pitcher down, he took the bar of soap from Moira's hands and soaped up her shoulders. "And initially, I had thought that it was the best thing to do."

"And now?" She wrapped her arms around her knees, watching as blood sluggishly seeped from a shallow cut near her elbow.

"I've been thinking. Would it be better to have intelligent darkspawn running about, finding old gods? It might take them a lot longer, seeing that the Mother claimed that she couldn't hear the archdemon's call any longer, but what would happen to _that_ when they do find it?" He poured clean water over her back, rinsing away the last of the darkspawn blood. He stepped out of the tub, holding out a hand for Moira. Wrapping one of the towels around his waist, he knelt at the foot of their bed, opening the trunk there and getting out medical supplies. While he wasn't as good as Moira or the other healers in the Keep, he knew enough basic first aid to patch them both up.

"Let me do that," Moira said, coming up behind him. She'd put on clean undergarments, but that was as far as she had gotten dressed.

"No," he told her, wincing when he realized that the single word came out harsher than he had intended. "You've taken care of everyone here," he said quietly. "Let me take care of you for once." Gently, he smoothed over a layer of thick red healing paste on her arm and wrapped a bandage over it. After he tucked the loose end into the finished bandage, he lightly pressed his lips to her injury.

Moira's lips trembled and she heard someone let out a loud sob. It wasn't until she felt her throat close up and her vision blur that she realized it had been her. "Shhh," Nathaniel said, gathering her in his arms. He rocked her softly back and forth as she cried against his shoulder.

"All those people," she sniffled, burrowing closer to his chest. "The _screams._" Even over the clean scent of soap and herbs from the poultice on her arm, she could still smell the lingering scent of blood-caked dust and smoke.

Nathaniel ran his hand over her still damp hair. "There wasn't anything you could have done," he told her.

"It doesn't make it any better," she replied, moving back from him and wiping at her eyes with the heels of her hands. "I don't know what to do."

Nathaniel knelt to wrap a bandage around her calf. "You're going to sleep," he said, preparing another bandage to go over a partially healed gash on her upper thigh. "And then in the morning, we're going to go down and see how the militia and infantry are doing."

"I want to go into Amaranthine tomorrow. We need to retrieve…" she swallowed hard. "We need to bring back the bodies for a proper burial. We're going to need to do that with the numbers that we lost here as well." She was going to need to get with someone to tally just how many people they had lost, and with someone else to see if there are any that are unaccounted for. The people that were now in the Keep couldn't possibly be all of Amaranthine's population. Surely some would have already fled south to Denerim or Redcliffe or even to the west to Highever.

"That's what I was going to suggest." He went to work bandaging his own bicep, but stopped when Moira put her hands over his and took over. "I was also going to suggest working in pairs to see that the people from the city are taken care of while they're here. The Keep has plenty of rooms; we can place different families in several to get everyone out of the elements. We can also keep the Great Hall converted into a temporary shelter until reconstruction of the city can take place."

"Esmerelle is going to be demanding us to make certain we give her town the highest priority," Moira commented, putting away the first aid supplies.

"And we're going to do our best to reassure her that we are putting her first." Nathaniel thought about Zevran, wondering if they'd have to put up with Bann Esmerelle's veiled threats and demands for very long. Taking Moira's hands, he led her over to the bed. "But all of that can wait until later. We won't be able to do anything if we don't get at least a few hours' worth of sleep. You can't exist on stamina droughts forever."

She'd known that she had been exhausted, but Moira hadn't expected to drift off as soon as her head hit the pillow. The last thing she remembered was Nathaniel settling beside her, his lips warm on her forehead.

* * *

The sky had barely started to turn pink in the horizon when Moira woke up next, her head on Nathaniel's shoulder and her arm draped over his chest. She slipped out from underneath his arm without waking him, watching as he frowned in his sleep before turning and hugging her pillow close. She dressed as soundlessly as possible and then made her way downstairs.

"What are you doing up?" she asked Anders, who was sitting at a tall worktable in the infirmary, a mortar and pestle in his hands.

"Potions aren't going to make themselves," he told her, stopping his mixing in order to take a sip from a ceramic mug near his elbow. "I'd ask the same of you, but I have a feeling I know what's made you such an early bird."

"Arlings aren't going to rebuild themselves," she replied, going over to his side. She took a knife and began chopping up elfroot. "What _are_ you drinking anyway?" The mug he was drinking from contained some dark liquid that smelled fragrantly strong. Wisps of steam came off the surface, telling her that he had either just made it or that he had used magic to reheat the contents.

"Oh, a little of this and a little of that. Tea wasn't doing the trick to keep me alert, so I've been working on my very own concoction for some time now." He offered the mug to her. "I'm thinking about calling it 'coffee'."

Moira took a tentative sip, making a face as soon as the bitter liquid hit her tongue. "Because it makes people cough when they drink it?" she asked. "It's interesting, but all the same, I think I'll stick with tea."

Anders shrugged. "It is a little bit _bracing_ when taken just black, I'll admit, but I've been experimenting with adding different amounts of sugar and cream. Sigrun's been helping out with the taste tests." Anders melted wax over the finished potion vial and set it in a holder. "Which would explain why she's been extra perky lately. Maybe I should tell her to stop after her fourth cup."

"Thank you," Moira said, moving her chopped herbs over to Anders' workstation. "You've done so much. I appreciate it."

Anders gave her a noncommittal shrug. "Hey, I might be all flashy with the primal magic," he said, grinning as he stirred ingredients together, "but I'm a healer at heart. This is what I do."

"How many people were injured?" Moira looked over to where several cots had been set up. In the semi-gloom, she couldn't make out if all of the people sleeping in them were injured or not.

"Surprisingly, not that many. Wade's armor saved the infantry, and the militia held its own. Velanna, the lovely Serena from Amaranthine – and what I wouldn't give to compare notes with _her_ - and myself treated everything from bumps to the head to the three or four critical injuries, including Varel. As for the others, I say that everyone will benefit from rest and a couple of good meals."

"That can be done."

Anders leaned against her arm. "And in my own medical opinion, I'd say that _you'd_ benefit from some rest as well."

"You're starting to sound like Nathaniel."

He grinned. "That's probably because we both have your best interests in mind."

"I'll head back to bed after I check on Varel. Is he here?"

"No, we moved him back to his own personal quarters." Anders poured the potion in another vial and capped it. "Do I have your promise that you'll go rest as soon as you finish that?"

Moira nodded. "I promise."

She spent a little more time in the infirmary with Anders, both helping him restock their supply of potions and poultices and helping tend to the injured. Serena, a healer who had fled from Amaranthine, had come in some time after to assist. Moira had seen the look Anders was giving her behind Serena's back when she decided to leave, smiling a bit because it was obvious that she was cramping his style. After that, she went to visit with the cook, who was already busy recruiting volunteers to help feed everyone. Phillip, the head chef, was like a general in an army and pleased as punch that he would be able to cook for so many people as well as help out in efforts to make things a little more normal. Moira left with a basket of rolls and fruit, which she redistributed to several children and their parents that were awake at such an early hour.

She didn't stay long in the Great Hall, knowing that she would come back later with Nathaniel. She did, however, slip into her office with the last roll in the basket. Hiding a yawn with the back of her hand, Moira stared at a blank piece of parchment and dipped her pen into the inkwell.

The first letter to Arl Teagan as well as the letters that followed to the other Banns in the Bannorn was short and to the point. She informed them of the state of Amaranthine and requested that a poll be conducted to see just how many people from her city had fled so she could get proper numbers accounted for. She didn't ask for aid, at least not now, because she still wasn't certain as to what her people would need until she had a chance to go to the ruined city and see for herself.

The next two letters were a little harder to pen.

_Dear Alistair,_ she started. _Remember the land you asked me to eradicate darkspawn from? Well, I have good news and I have bad news._ Here, she _did_ ask for help, and she knew that he would offer as much as he possibly could. The royal coffers couldn't have changed too terribly much in less than three months; she knew from experience how much was still in them. They had rebuilt several smaller towns with those funds and all she was really asking for was help in both monetary and physical labor to make the city livable again. Any other upgrades would have to come from taxes and levies, which she was loath to do, but she wasn't about to ask the king for anything incredibly extravagant. She wrote several more pages, adding in great detail the events that she was comfortable sending through mail, but telling him that other Warden business would have to be explained face to face. Like the other letters, she asked him to make note of how many refugees might be living in Denerim and send the numbers and if possible, the names of those living there back to her as quickly as he was able.

She sealed the letter and reached for another blank piece of paper, taking a breath before she began writing her brother. She gave him an even more abbreviated explanation of events, reassuring him that she was fine, but that she needed his help by way of any craftsmen he could spare. She ran her fingers over her necklace, feeling a sharp, painful wave of homesickness hit her that almost brought tears to her eyes. Just then, she wanted to go _home_ more than anything else. She closed her eyes. Highever wasn't her home any longer, just like Denerim wasn't either. She had already welcomed Amaranthine as her home, and had identified the people there as her people.

She ended the letter with an open invitation for Fergus to come visit, knowing that he would show up uninvited anyway. She bit her lip, wondering how she was going to broach the subject of her and Nathaniel's relationship without causing bloodshed. Moira pressed the Cousland crest into the cooling wax, setting the letter aside with all the others to be posted later on that day. Her hands shook and she finished off the leftover roll, chewing thoughtfully before getting up from the chair and heading to Varel's rooms.

* * *

Nathaniel woke up face down in bed feeling as if someone had pulled every single muscle in his arms and back out of sorts. He hadn't felt this sore since his first year of intense archery drills. Attempting to flex his right hand caused his fingers to cramp, making him grimace.

"I suppose," he drawled, his voice muffled by his pillow, "that you've already been up for hours."

"Something like that," Moira replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. She took Nathaniel's hand in hers and gently rubbed until the tendons relaxed. "I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep." Rising from the mattress, she rummaged through her glass jars near her makeup stand before pulling out a vial of unscented oil. She'd gone to visit Varel, but found him resting. Upon going back to her own rooms, she stripped out of everything but her smallclothes, intent on joining Nathaniel for a short nap.

Nathaniel jumped when he felt something cool hit his shoulders, then let out a low moan when Moira's hands dug into his muscles, easing the ache that had settled there. "You know," he muttered, "if you say that your Antivan friend taught you this, I don't think I could work up the energy right now to get jealous."

Moira laughed. "Actually, you can thank my friend from Orlais. Leliana could work wonders with her hands." The bard had often worked knots out of Moira and Alistair's arms after a long day of swinging swords. Moira ran her hands down Nathaniel's forearm, erasing the tension there before moving along his spine. She couldn't get to him from her current position, so she rose and sat on her heels, her knees straddling his hips. She squeaked when he rolled over, his hands holding her in place over him.

"So," he started, looking up at her with hooded eyes when she rolled her hips against him. "Care to tell me just where you've been so we don't waste time revisiting people?"

Her breath hitched and she couldn't form a coherent thought in her head, especially when Nathaniel's hands settled firmly on her hips. "I…" She splayed her hands over his chest and bit her lip. "Went to see people."

"Uh huh. I gathered that much." He gave her a crooked grin before rolling them again, stopping when they were on their sides facing one another. "I suspect that Varel is doing well?"

"He was sleeping, but he looked a great deal better." She settled closer to him, her leg gliding over his, and told him of everything she'd already done that morning. "I also wrote to Alistair. Knowing him, he's going to want to come here and check out the damage himself." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "It might actually help morale to see him. I don't know if he realizes it yet, but he has quite the effect on people." Even before she had left for Amaranthine, she had overheard the common classes call him the People's King. He was popular everywhere he went, especially since he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. When they had helped rebuild Lothering, Alistair had been right alongside everyone else, raising house frames and hauling away burnt timber. It had been a trial for his bodyguards, but the refugees from Lothering had remembered the kind acts that he performed without even thinking. Having him in Amaranthine would be a good thing.

"You might also want to prepare yourself for a visit from Fergus sometime soon," she warned, her finger tracing the line the bandage made over his chest.

He sighed and buried his face in her hair. "Maker, that's going to be a difficult visit." It was sad, especially since the two of them had been the closest of friends in their youth. Ever realistic, Nathaniel knew that no matter what, he'd never be able to undo the damage his father had done to Fergus' family.

Moira stroked his back, frowning at the way his muscles tensed up again. "Especially when he learns that we're together?" She suddenly realized that she was going to have the three men in her life that she'd ever loved in the same place at the same time. _That_ was going to be interesting. Alistair would probably accept their relationship without question, especially since he knew much of her and Nathaniel's past history from the many nights that they had stayed up and kept watch, and the most he would probably do is tease the both of them mercilessly and ply Nathaniel for embarrassing stories or something on that lines, but Fergus…

Nathaniel groaned. "I'm a dead man." Fergus had been accepting, if a bit overprotective by principle, of his and Moira's relationship back then, but he was certain to not feel that way now. "He's going to know at first glance and kill me."

Moira snuggled closer against him and exhaled slowly, finally deciding to take Nathaniel and Anders' advice. "He'll have to go through me before he can hurt you," she said sleepily. A nap was looking more and more appealing as the day wore on.

Nathaniel tipped her face up and kissed her, lingering on the pliant way her lips met his. "My hero," he breathed against her mouth, his fingers tangling in her hair.

_No,_ Moira thought, kissing him back. _You're mine._


	28. if you could only see

Title: If You Could Only See  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #14; somei yoshino: a type of sakura  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: G  
Summary: Moira heads to Highever. Fergus finds out about the company his sister's been keeping.  
Note: Moria's favorite childhood story? Yep, that's a nod to _my_ favorite childhood book, The Hobbit, done with a Ferelden twist. Usual disclaimers apply; Bilbo and company don't belong to me, property of J.R.R. Tolkien. Like Moira's dad, I'm sure mine was tired of me always asking for another chapter each night at bedtime.

* * *

The majority of the forest surrounding Highever and the road leading up to the castle was made up of evergreens. Moira knew from experience that there were a select few trees that would actually change colors from green to vibrant red and orange; as a girl, she had made crowns of multicolored leaves and pretended that she was the queen of the forest. The scent of pines enveloped her as they rode under the trees, almost as if the land itself was welcoming her back to the place of her birth.

"It's rather lovely, isn't it?" Mistress Woolsey asked, taking everything in from the horse beside her. Fergus had sent a letter shortly after Moira's own had reached him that said that he would be unable to visit Amaranthine at the moment. The harvest was upon him and there was much to oversee, but there were matters that needed to be discussed face to face concerning the arling's expenses. Moira had forgotten just how busy their father had been during this time, which only drove home how ruined her own farms were and the fact that their food stores would need to be replenished somehow before the onset of winter. She'd sent the messenger back with a letter explaining that she and her treasurer would come to Highever to conduct business instead. It was difficult for her to leave Amaranthine, but her people were proving to be resilient: two weeks after the final battle had seen a flurry of activity, both at the Keep and in the city. True to his word, Alistair had shown up with a veritable army of craftsmen, rolling up his sleeves alongside Moira and the rest of the Wardens as they helped clear the burnt out shell the city had become. Ever the optimist, Alistair had told Moira that the bright side of all this was that now they could map out the sprawling city to work even more effectively. He'd left after a week to attend to business in Denerim, but he'd left the crew of workmen behind. His main city planner had worked extensively with Moira, Nathaniel and Constable Aiden in planning out the new layout, and the three of them were satisfied with what they had worked out.

"It is," Moira replied. The city of Highever was just as she remembered it and the people who were milling about at the early hour instantly recognized her. She dismounted from her own horse and took the time to converse with the people who had known her since before she had been born. The end result was that she and Mistress Woolsey wound up at the castle's front gates far later than they had anticipated. Moira was still leading her horse when she heard a familiar deep bark echo off the stone.

"Quinn!" She crouched and braced herself for the hearty welcome from her Mabari, tilting her head up to avoid the worst of his tongue as he tried to lick at her face. "My beautiful boy, I've missed you so!"

"Welcome back," Fergus laughed, standing a bit to the side. "I certainly hope that you don't expect such a welcome from me."

Moira stood up and embraced her brother. "It's good to be back," she admitted, squeezing Fergus back just as hard as he was holding her. "I have much to speak to you about."

"All in good time, dear sister. First, let's see you and your companion to your rooms." Fergus let go of Moira and greeted Mistress Woolsey, who was shouldering her pack of personal belongings.

"I take it that I'm in my old bedroom?"

"Absolutely."

Moira took hold of the reins on both horses. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'm going to the stables first and then I'll head on up to get cleaned up." She took her time wandering to the stables, her eyes silently taking in the repairs and fortifications that her brother had done in her absence. The most significant had been the extra reinforcement he had placed on the front wall and gates.

The stables were just as Moira recalled them, the sweet smell of straw taking her back to when she had been younger, all gangly arms and awkward angles. The other horses in the stable shuffled about at the arrival of the three newcomers, but then proceeded to pay them no heed. Moira's horse nibbled at the ends of her hair while she took the saddle off, taking her time to clean tack and run a brush over her steed's flanks. She did the same for Mistress Woolsey's horse, making sure to fill their feed and water troughs. She left after giving them each an apple she had kept in her satchel before taking her bag and heading back to the castle proper.

It might have been fall, but her mother's roses were still in full bloom in the carefully tended courtyard. When she had first returned to Highever after the Blight, she had been relieved to see that Eleanor's prized gardens had been left untouched by fire and soldiers. She bent and inhaled deeply, thinking that her mother had often smelled just like the flowers she had so carefully tended. Snapping one of the blooms off at the stem, Moira walked closer to the upper wings of the castle. Everywhere she went, there was a memory tucked here and there. Her lips curled upward at the hallway where her mother and Nan had spent hours teaching her proper posture, marching her up and down the corridor with heavy books balanced atop her head while she wore equally heavy gowns of brocaded silk. The open door of the library brought all the lessons Brother Aldous had drilled into her and her brother's heads. Fergus had often caught the wrath of their tutor by scribbling dragons in the margins of his books instead of paying attention to his lessons.

She stopped in the guest room to make sure that Mistress Woolsey was comfortable. Her treasurer had assured her that everything was to her liking and was preparing for a nap. Moira only had one bad moment when she reached her room. She stared across the hall at what used to be her brother's old chamber, swallowing hard at the memory of cooling blood trickling through her fingers and a little voice whispering in the dark. _Auntie, it hurts…_

Moira closed her bedroom door firmly behind her, resting her forehead momentarily against the wood before turning to the already drawn bath to wash away the road grime from two days of travel.

* * *

Fergus had left their father's office pretty much the same as it had always been. A large portrait of the four of them hung behind his chair, their mother's gentle smile looking back at them, one of Bryce's hands on her shoulder. His other hand was on Fergus' and the artist commissioned to do the portrait had caught everyone's expressions perfectly, down to the sparkle of humor in her father's eyes, her brother's prominent cowlick that had refused to stay down no matter what Mother and Nan tried, and Moira's own gap-toothed smile and smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. The Cousland family shield hung over the massive fireplace opposite their portrait; Moira had given it to Fergus after the Blight, keeping the family blade for herself. Two swords were crossed underneath the shield: one Moira recognized to be Fergus', but the second smaller one was new.

"I promised him a sword," Fergus said from the desk, his hands under his chin. "I think Oren would have liked it."

"I think so too," Moira replied. She walked over to where her brother and her treasurer were sitting, going over formal requisitions. She had wanted to get business out of the way quickly so that she could enjoy the remainder of her visit, but Fergus had insisted on waiting until the two of his guests had rested and eaten first. After lunch, Moira had tried to broach the topic again, and yet again, Fergus had managed to stall by declaring that the two of them needed to go into Highever for old times' sake and visit the merchants there. She'd enjoyed herself and managed to purchase several gifts for her friends – a jar of specialty honey that she had remembered Varel speaking highly of before, a bottle of Highever mead for Oghren (made from the fermented specialty honey the dwarf had sung even higher praises of), warm knitted socks and catnip-stuffed knitted mice for Anders and Ser Pounce-a-Lot respectfully, a book of local lore for Sigrun and another for Justice as well as a couple of large bars of rose petal soap for herself. She'd missed that luxury ever since running out of it a month ago and figured that while she was here that it would be a good time to replenish her supplies.

She'd also bought a finely made leather arm guard for Nathaniel, dodging her brother's questions as to who it was intended for by saying that she had taken up an interest in archery. It wasn't an outright lie per se, seeing that Nathaniel _had_ been trying to teach her how to use a bow in the weeks before the final confrontation with the Architect and the Mother. She still hadn't been any good with it, but it didn't stop her from wanting to learn.

By the time they had gotten back, it had almost been time for dinner. Fergus had finally brought up business, inviting the two of them to join him in his office after they had eaten. Mistress Woolsey had unfolded a small pair of spectacles and perched them across the bridge of her nose, pulling out her neatly kept ledgers as she did so. Fergus had looked over Amaranthine's numbers and had shaken his head, stating that their coffers wouldn't hold them past the spring if they kept up with recovery the way that they had wanted to.

"I can't take your money," Moira told him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"And why not? Your arling is still under my rule. As Teyrn, I am obligated to provide aid to your lands and people, you know that."

"But…"

He shook his head again. "But nothing. I know you Wardens are above the usual political ranking, blah, blah, blah, but you are my sister." He stood up and went over to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Family comes first. You helped me reclaim my home after what that bastard Howe did to it; let me do the same for yours."

The finality in his voice made Moira back down. "Yes, Fergus."

"Good. Now that that's settled, let's get down to the specifics. I can't spare very many people right now with Harvest coming up, but I can send money back with you, as well as some food in our stores to help shore up your numbers for winter." Moira nodded mutely, trusting Mistress Woolsey to iron out everything in her efficient, highly detailed manner, which was the exact reason Moira had taken the woman with her in the first place. She would have taken Varel as well, but her seneschal was still recovering from his injuries. Between her potions and Anders' spells, what would have taken months of recovery was taking merely weeks.

After a while, it was apparent that Mistress Woolsey had taken over the conversation on her end, leaving Moira feeling like a third wheel. She let her eyes wander the office, taking in the smell of leather and books that lined the walls. She smiled, recalling the years of sitting cuddled in her father's lap as a child, listening raptly as he read to her during rainstorms. While Brother Aldous had taught her how to read with primers focusing on rules and other stuffy topics, Bryce Cousland taught her how to use her imagination, reading tales of the Black Fox and his band of merry men to his daughter as well as stories of knights rushing to rescue captured maidens from the clutches of evil dragons. Her eyes scanned the titles nearby and she caught sight of one of her favorite bedtime stories she had often begged her father to read over and over to her about a young man that a mage had recruited to join thirteen dwarves in their quest to regain their home Under the Mountain from a vicious dragon. Moira had loved hearing about the reluctant rogue whose many adventures included finding a magical ring and rescuing his companions from gigantic cave spiders. She wondered if Fergus would mind it terribly if she took the book back with her to Amaranthine.

After a while, both Fergus and Mistress Woolsey came to an agreement on the amount of funds to be sent back to Amaranthine and the three of them went to bed. Moira stared up at the canopied ceiling of her bed, unable to sleep. Quinn had stuck to her side all day long, his head resting on Moira's knee. He let out a great doggie snore and rolled to his back, his hind legs moving as if he were chasing something. Even with the familiar weight next to her, Moira couldn't relax. Pushing the covers off her body, she slipped out of bed and dug around in her pack for her brush. She paused when her fingers brushed up against something papery. Drawing it out, her lips curved up into a fond smile at the sight of familiar bold script.

_Dearest M,_ it read. _If you're reading this, it's because you've either unpacked your bag upon arrival at Highever or you've stumbled upon my letter by accident. Knowing you, it's the latter. Don't make that face; you know it's true._

Moira shook her head, sitting cross-legged atop her bed and absently scratching Quinn's ears. "Okay, so I hate to unpack things. You have me there, Nate."

_And also knowing you, you still haven't told your brother about us. Not that I blame you; I'd put it off as long as possible myself. I wish that you would have let me come with you, that way we could have provided a united front against the backlash that's bound to happen. I don't like it that you're going to face it alone. I also want to apologize to Fergus for my father's actions. I know that words won't bring back his wife and son or undo the damage that Father has caused to your family, but I want him to know that I mean him no harm._

She sighed, turning the page over, her fingers tracing across Nathaniel's handwriting. Reading a letter from him now brought back memories of reading and rereading his messages when they had been separated by an ocean instead of merely a few hundred miles. _I'm going to venture a guess and say that you're reading this in bed (and if you are, I hope that you're wearing that green silk negligee of yours) and that you're unable to sleep. Hopefully I'm wrong, (well, not about the negligee, because it is one of my favorites to picture you in) but I'm going to confess that I'll more than likely sleep poorly while you're away. I know, I know. You'll only be gone for a week, but I already know that our bed will be far too big for one person._

_I'm certain that the Keep won't be the same without you. I'll try to keep Anders from leveling the place with his newfound earthquake spells – he told you he discovered a scroll detailing them, didn't he? I can't promise anything for the rest of the lot. I shall refrain from brooding overmuch, if only to attempt to stem Sigrun's campaign to get me to "cheer up" as she bluntly puts it._

_Yours,_

_N._

_PS – Don't make that face either. You know that I love you. (You were thinking 'is that it?' while reading this when you didn't see that earlier, weren't you?) And before you ask, yes, I shall miss you terribly. The things I already have planned for you upon your return won't be mentioned here, lest this get into the hands of someone else other than you. We can't have your reputation tarnished by detailed, explicit talk of steamy, highly athletic lovemaking requiring an extreme amount of flexibility from both parties involved, now can we?_

Moira laughed, folding the letter back up and imagining that Nathaniel had written the last bit with a wry smirk on his face. She thought to place it back into her bag, but tucked it underneath her pillow instead. Burrowing under the covers again, she pulled the spare pillow close to her, draping her arm across it. It wasn't Nathaniel, but she finally let herself drift off, her free hand gripping his letter tightly.

* * *

"So, when were you thinking about leaving?" Fergus asked her after lunch. Mistress Woolsey had gone into Highever by herself, saying that she wished to purchase some items, leaving Moira alone with her brother for the better part of the day.

"Tomorrow morning, the earlier the better." They were walking down the corridor towards their father's personal library. It was odd, but neither one of them could break the habit of calling certain rooms anything other than 'Father's library' or 'Mother's sitting room' and neither one of them seemed to care. "It isn't that I don't like coming back, but…"

"I understand. You hate to be away from Amaranthine for very long." He steered them into the library, sitting down at the well-worn blue upholstered settee. Moira sat down beside him and looked around. Here, memories of her and her father were the strongest, but Nathaniel was there as well. She glanced towards the bookshelf farthest from the door, recalling a sixteen-year-old girl receiving her first real kiss from an eighteen-year-old boy she had loved for years. "Speaking of Amaranthine," Fergus continued, shaking her out of her memories. "I have something else to talk to you about."

"What is it?" Fergus had never been one to mince words, and it was strange seeing him trying to find the right words.

"You're not going to live forever," he blurted, softening his words with an exasperated smile. "Despite the fact that some stories are painting you as some immortal, Maker-sent fighter destined to rescue Ferelden from all the evils in the world."

Moira groaned. "I hate that one." Then she thought about what he was trying to say. Amaranthine, not living forever, did he… "Fergus Cousland, if you say what I think you're going to say I'm going to hit you."

"Amaranthine needs an heir. Ow." He rubbed his bicep where his sister punched his arm. "Look, it's not like I particularly _enjoy_ entertaining thoughts that my baby sister would be performing acts needed in order to create children and this order is _certainly_ not coming from me."

"Then who is it from?"

"Other banns. They're wondering when you're going to go husband hunting. They've even started compiling a list of eligible sons."

Moira let her head hit the back of the settee. "Andraste save me. Please tell me that you don't have a copy of this list."

"Actually, I do."

"Throw it away. I have no desire to marry _any_ of them." She pinched the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and thumb. _Well, Nate, it looks as if our cover is about to be blown._ "Amaranthine belongs to the Wardens. When I die, the person I designate as Warden-Commander will take over. I don't _need_ an heir. Besides, I don't even know if I _can_ have children. There are records of Wardens having children after their Joining, but those are few and far between."

"I know that. It's just…" he sighed. "There's more to life than performing duties. I always thought that you'd want to settle down with someone, to have the sort of relationship that our own parents had. _I_ certainly want that for you."

"I _do_ want that." She took a breath. "And I already have that with someone." While what they had wasn't necessarily considered 'settling down' with all the upheaval going on at the moment, she and Nathaniel had the sort of partnership she'd always dreamt of.

"Oh? And I do know the lucky man?" The teasing tone was back and Moira bit her lip as he nudged her with his elbow.

"You do. Actually, you know him very well." She stood and went to the window. "I conscripted him into the Wardens the day I arrived. These past months, he's proven to be invaluable in both his knowledge and his support. I don't think that I could have done half of what I've accomplished without him; everyone already looks to him as my second-in-command and he's endeared himself to the people of Amaranthine for the way that he's thrown himself into rebuilding the city. They hold him high esteem, which I'm quite thankful for."

"Well? Don't leave me in suspense, little sister. What's this mystery man's name that's captured your heart so?" He threw his arm over the back of his seat. "I've prayed that you'd find someone to replace that damnable Howe in your affections."

Moira's hands tightened on the window sill. "He is Nathaniel."

Fergus was silent for all of five seconds. "I don't think I heard you correctly," he said slowly. "I could have sworn that you said you were seeing Rendon Howe's son."

She closed her eyes and turned to face him. "I said that I've spent these past months in Nathaniel's company."

His face contorted in anger. "How could you do this, Moira?" he demanded. "How could you shove your family, your own flesh and blood, to the side in favor of…of…_him_?"

She stood up straighter. "I would _never_ forget our family."

"Well, you certainly seem to forget that his father butchered our family and took our lands."

"I was _there_, Fergus. I'm not likely to forget what happened that night. It's just that I'm a lot more forgiving than you are, especially when it comes to people that weren't even involved but just happen to have the misfortune of sharing the same last name with the man that did this."

He sneered. "Sure, forgiving. I'm certain that's what you're feeling when you're rolling about with I_Howe_./i"

Moira had never felt the urge to strike her brother before, but her palms itched to slap across his face to knock some sense into him. "You can say whatever you wish about me," she said stiffly. "But leave Nathaniel out of it. He wasn't the one to kill our family and you know it. Look at what your hatred has done to you. Do you truly think that Father or Mother would have wanted you to carry on this way? What of your wife? What would Oriana have to say with the way that you're acting?"

He stood and jabbed a finger in her direction. "You leave her out of this," he ordered, his voice rising. "She would still be alive had Howe not…"

Moira cut him off. "_Think_ for a moment, Fergus. You're letting anger cloud your judgment."

"And you're letting some memory of a summer fling cloud yours."

She shook her head. "What I had with him then wasn't some passing fancy. We were going to marry."

Fergus squinted his eyes. "And now? You marry him now and he _still_ becomes Arl. Funny, it seems that he gets the better part of this bargain."

Moira closed her eyes and unclenched her hands from the fists she had formed them into. "It's no use talking to you when we're both upset," she said carefully. "I don't need your approval when it comes to my relationships, but I wanted to tell you all the same."

"I will aid your arling," Fergus said, glaring at her. "But if you think for one second that I will accept a Howe into my family, you are sadly mistaken. You should know that should you marry him, you become a Howe in my eyes as well." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Moira sank into a nearby chair and hid her face in her hands.

* * *

The knock at Moira's door later that evening made her tense for yet another argument. Fergus had avoided her for the rest of the day, taking his dinner in his private rooms. She wondered if he would even see them off in the morning, or if he'd have someone else at the front gate do it for him. Bracing herself for another verbal battle, Moira wearily opened the door.

"Lydia, what a pleasant surprise." Lydia had been her mother's maid, and by extension, Moira's when Nan moved into the kitchens. "I've missed you!" She reached out and hugged her, glad to see a friendly face after the day's events.

"Forgive me for not being here last night to properly welcome you back," she said, squeezing back, her voice as soft as ever. "I was visiting my daughter in the city."

Moira shook her head, turning back to her packing. "How is she?"

"Oh, she's the same as usual. Her husband's been fighting a cold, but it looks like he'll pull through within the week." She moved over to the vanity and picked up a heavy silver-backed brush. "Word around the castle is that you and his lordship got into an argument today."

Moira sat on the edge of the bed. "I'd forgotten how fast word travels here," she muttered, sighing when she felt Lydia run the brush through her hair. It brought a faint smile to her lips. She'd always confessed everything to Lydia during their nighttime ritual, the hairbrush acting as an excuse for Lydia to stay longer just to chat and laugh. Lydia had always treated her like a daughter, and she had cherished every moment they had together. "I take it that you know why we fought already?"

Lydia nodded. "Something about you seeing Rendon Howe's son."

Moira tensed. "What does everyone else think?"

Her ex-maid sighed and ran her fingers through Moira's hair. She hadn't had a chance to cut it, and now she was actually thinking of letting her hair grow longer than where it barely hit her shoulders. "There's mixed emotions. What happened to the castle still feels new to some, but to others, they're just glad that you're happy. You _are_ happy, aren't you?"

"I can't say that everything I've gone through has been good, but Nathaniel has a way of making sure that I don't drive myself completely insane. He's one of my closest confidants."

"Is that _all_ he is to you?" The question was asked in such a way that Moira felt as if she were a giggling teenager all over again.

"No," she laughed. "He most certainly is not just a confidant. Being with him reminds me that even though it seems as if nothing but ugliness gets thrown into your life, you can find something good, something worth fighting for. He makes me feel safe, which I haven't felt in the longest time."

"I always knew that you'd end up with him. I remember all the letters he would send you while he was away."

"I loved him very much back then."

"And now?"

Moira tilted her head. "I think I love him even more now than before."

Lydia rounded the bed and sat on the opposite edge. "What is he like?" She hadn't had many chances to see the young Howe when he had accompanied his father to trips to Highever, but she could picture a thoughtful sort of lad, dark of hair and serious in expression.

Moira curled her feet underneath her. "He's quiet for one. Sometimes he's so quiet that it makes him somewhat intimidating to others, but he's actually taking in everything that's being said and storing it for future reference." She remembered one of the earlier times she and Nathaniel had gone around the Keep checking on people. "There was this little girl who said that she had lost her dog in the fires. I hadn't noticed her at first because I was speaking with her parents, but the next time we went down there, Nathaniel knelt down and gave her a little wooden dog I had seen him carving the night before. He said that it couldn't replace the one that she lost, but that he hoped that it would help her to not feel as sad over her loss." She recalled the way the girl had held the carving in her hand before throwing her arms around his neck, how her parents had looked on with teary eyes.

"He sounds like a good man," Lydia said, smoothing a wrinkle in the bedcovers. "Not at all like what…" she paused and looked away. "Everyone thought."

"When you say everyone, you mean my brother, don't you?"

"Teyrn Fergus is a good man. He treats us well, but…"

"Even good men can let preconceived notions get the better of them. Nathaniel is _nothing_ like his father; I wish I could find a way to make Fergus see that."

"And if he doesn't?"

Moira bit her lip and wrung her hands. "I told him that I don't need his approval when it comes to my relationships, but the truth is that I want it, especially after what he said should Nathaniel and I decide to marry. Fergus is all the family that I have left; I don't want to lose him." She took a breath. "I don't want to have to choose between them, I really don't, but if my involvement with Nathaniel means that a gap forms between Fergus and me, I will end things with Nate." It physically hurt to say that. "I don't know what to do; I can't send him away, these are his people as much as they are mine and he cares for them just as much as I do. I'm their commander; I can't run back to Denerim or even back here either. It would be cowardly to turn tail and flee just because I couldn't stand to stay in the same room as him and pretend that I didn't love him or that he didn't love me." Her vision blurred and she wiped at her cheeks with her hands.

"I can't tell you what to do, but I do know what you're _not_ going to do," Lydia said, her tone steel-sharp. "You are not going to sit here on the last night that we'll be together and cry your eyes out." Her eyes went back to the bedroom door she'd purposely left ajar. If she wasn't mistaken, she had seen someone quickly move away, and she had a pretty good idea as to who had been listening in. She knew that her place in the castle was pretty much set in stone, which gave her enough nerve to plan on visiting her Teyrn later on and giving him a piece of her mind. "Come on, your Nathaniel can't possibly be the only handsome boy in all of Amaranthine. Tell me, what else does your dear city have to offer?"

Moira gave a watery laugh and sniffed. "Well, there's Captain Garevel for one, but I have a feeling that you'd like to hear more about my seneschal…"

* * *

Bags packed and ready to go the next morning, Moira made one last stop in the castle before setting out. The cherry tree that sat in one of the larger gardens had been there since before either she or Fergus had been born, but the memorial underneath it were relatively new. Kneeling, Moira set the three dragon scales she had collected down beside the portion engraved with Oren's name. "Dragons, my dear boy," she whispered, running her fingers lovingly over the letters. "The stories I could tell you." She dusted a few dead leaves away, her hand finding the first scale she had left for him years ago. It was a little dirty, but she wiped it into some semblance of order with the hem of her traveling cloak and placed it with the others. "Oh Mama," she said quietly, setting a rose from the gardens down beside the plaque bearing her mother's name. "What would you say to all this?"

"She'd probably say how much she hated to see her children bicker."

Moira sharply turned around to face her brother. "Fergus."

"You think I wouldn't let you go without saying goodbye?" he asked, coming up to her and sitting down at the stone bench nearby.

"Truthfully, I thought you'd be too angry with me."

He looked down. "About that." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You're right; you don't need to have my approval in the dealings of your love life."

"Nathaniel is a good man."

"I want to believe that, I truly do. I spent most of the night trying to remember the Nate I had befriended, but all I could come up with was the memory of the ruin his father had left of our home." He glanced down at the names on the stone. "You're all I have left, Moira. I'm so afraid of losing you."

Moira stood up and sat next to her brother, his arms automatically going around her as her head settled against his shoulder. "Come to Amaranthine when the harvest is over," she whispered, looping her arms around his waist. "He said that he knows he can never make things right between the two of you, but he wants you to know that he means no harm. I think he misses you."

"Does he make you happy?" Fergus asked, his chin on the crown of her head.

"He does. I like to think that I make him happy as well."

"I never saw you with him, at least not romantically, even back when we were younger. He has quite the glass-is-half-empty approach to life that always seemed to be in direct opposition to your more optimistic nature."

Moira shook her head. "I think he considers that pessimistic trait to be a realistic viewpoint of the world around him." She looked at the tree they were sitting under. "Do you remember the story that goes with this?" she asked.

"I wasn't aware that there even was one. Father said that he planted this for Mother when they married."

"That's right. Mother told me a little bit more. She said that Father explained that this variety of cherry tree wasn't suited for Highever's climate. The soil is too rocky and the elements would more than likely destroy it."

Fergus frowned. "Then why did he choose it? He could have given her something far more suiting as a wedding gift."

"I asked Mother the same thing. Father's reply was that with a little bit of care, nurturing, and determination, anything could flourish in even the worst of circumstances." At the time, Moira had always thought that her mother had merely meant that about the tree that she loved to read under, but as she grew older, she saw it was a metaphor for relationships and marriage. "We might have a lot of things going against us, but Nathaniel and I are determined to make the best of what we've been given. Last night, when you said that our match would drive you away, I was ready to turn Nathaniel aside, but I can't. I love him too much to hurt him that way."

"Last night, I would have demanded that of you." He smoothed his hand over her hair. "But after thinking it over, I know I can't do that to you. To either of you. You deserve your chance at happiness; I could never deny you that."

She looked up at him. "What changed your mind?"

He gave her a crooked grin. "I'd like to say that it was me being mature and seeing the issue from all angles, but I'll confess, it was a midnight visit I received from Lydia that set me straight. She read me the riot act." She had more than blistered his ears, telling him that he was acting selfishly and putting his own need for vengeance ahead of his sister's well-being. It was as if he were ten and being berated for using his mother's cosmetics as war paint all over again. "She gave me a lot to think about."

"It would be foolish of me to think that you've changed your mind about us, wouldn't it?"

He sighed again. "I might not like your choice, but I'm not going to do anything to stand in between the two of you. All I've ever wanted is for you to be happy, and if Nathaniel does that, then I approve." He squeezed her tightly. "But if he _ever_ hurts you or causes you pain, I _will_ come over there and beat him into a pulp."

Moira laughed, hugging her brother back. "I don't think you have anything to worry about there."

He kissed her forehead. "Take care of yourself on the way back," he said. "Hero of Ferelden or no, I'm still your big brother. I'm entitled to worry."

"I will."

"And take that flea bitten Mabari with you."

"But…" Quinn had been with Fergus ever since Moira had come to Amaranthine.

"Oh, we had a talk last night. I told him that I understood his desire to follow his mistress. He's missed you something terrible since you've been away. It'd be cruel to leave him behind for a second time."

"Will you be all right?" One of the reasons she'd left Quinn with Fergus was that Quinn had been the only thing to draw Fergus out of mourning over his wife and son.

He waved a hand dismissively. "Actually, I was thinking of getting a hound of my own. The kennel master said that there's a new litter due any day now." Standing up, he pulled Moira to her feet. "Come on, I'm sure that you want to get back to the Keep in record time."

"I love you, Fergus," she told him.

He draped his arm over her shoulder. "I love you too."

* * *

Nathaniel had kept watch as soon as Moira's scheduled week away was up. After Oghren and Anders complained that his pacing was driving them insane, he had stayed on top of the battlements and it wasn't until the sun was starting to set that he begin to worry. He was just about ready to set off towards Highever himself when Sigrun sighted two travelers on horseback and a large dog approach the Keep through her spyglass. By the time Nathaniel made it down to the courtyard, Moira had dismounted and was handing the reins to one of the stable boys. He felt as if something had lifted off his chest when she turned towards him, her face breaking out into a wide smile. The dog at her side was busily snuffling around the dirt, trying to identify all sorts of new smells, but he stopped and marched straight up to Nathaniel. He made a great show of sniffing Nathaniel's boots before butting his head up under Nathaniel's hand, urging him to scratch between the dog's ears.

"I see Quinn likes you," Moira said, tilting her head and watching the two of them interact.

Giving the dog one last pat, Nathaniel strode over to her, for once not worried about their audience. Gathering her up in his arms, he slowly bent his head down to hers. "Welcome home," he murmured against her lips.

"It's good to be back," she replied, sifting her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him down for a kiss while Quinn ran circles around them both, barking happily.


	29. miles behind me

Title: Miles Behind Me  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #12; oxygen  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Dealing with near-death out-of-body experiences isn't for the faint of heart.

* * *

Musicians had composed songs of her deeds, both as the Hero of Ferelden and as the Dark Wolf; although no one besides a select few knew of her involvement in the latter. Seven months ago, the people of Amaranthine praised her as she led efforts to rebuild their city and they were still reacting positively to having her as their Arlessa, making the Grey Warden's occupation of the arling run smoothly. Moira had slain an archdemon, defeated both the Architect and the Mother, sneered at dragons, and laughed in the faces of abominations. She'd dodged blows, unarmed intricate traps, and avoided multiple assassination attempts.

She found it immensely ironic that while she had made it through all of those things relatively unscathed, all it took was a run of the mill bandit with a bit of knowledge on poisons to finally do her in. The roadside attack had taken both her and Nathaniel by surprise; they had been walking back to the Keep from the city after a day of overseeing damage repairs. Things were looking good and both their moods had been high. Seeing as it was a working visit, both of them had neglected to wear any armor and only traveled with the lightest of weapons. The four bandits had jumped out from a ditch roughly a mile away from the Keep, demanding valuables. Between the two of them, she and Nathaniel had easily taken three of the bandits, but the fourth one snuck up while Moira was busy attacking and stabbed her with a dagger. Moira had winced at the feel of the blade hitting her ribs, and then her knees hit the dirt road as fiery pain shot up her side. She vaguely heard Nathaniel shout out to her over the roar of blood in her ears as she collapsed.

"Damn them!" Nathaniel cursed, pressing his hand against her side to try to stem the bleeding. She clenched her teeth, smothering a scream, and put her hand over his.

"Don't touch the blade," she warned, turning her head to the side and coughing up blood. "It's poisoned." Her mind ran through all the symptoms and she closed her eyes in defeat, the side of her face sinking into the dirt. Zevran and Leliana's voices rang in her ears, explaining how just the right amounts of the simplest ingredients could create a toxin so deadly that it killed its subject before antitoxins could even begin to work. Prying Nathaniel's hand away from her side, she attempted to sit up.

"Are you insane?" he hissed, moving so that he was supporting her body. His heart was frantically beating against his chest as he tried to staunch her wound again. "You're going to bleed to death if we don't bandage this." Even as he spoke, he ripped the bottom half of her shirt into strips and wound them around her middle, using his own torn sleeves to supplement the makeshift bandages.

"I'm already dying," she reasoned, trying to catch her breath to speak in anything louder than a pained wheeze. "If anything, bleeding out here will be preferable to what this poison will do to me."

He shook his head. "No. I refuse to let you die here." He hooked one arm under her knees and the other behind her back and rose, staggering as he picked her up. "We're close to the Keep; Anders will heal you." Even Nathaniel realized that he sounded panicked, and he began to run as fast as he could while he felt her blood soak through his clothes. "I'm not letting you give up this easily."

"It's too late. The poison will finish me in less than twenty minutes. We're a half hour away from the Keep, if not more," she murmured, her head falling backward over his arm. "Funny, I always figured I'd die away from the sunlight and in the middle of a darkspawn mob." It was almost better this way; the stories Alistair had told her about the Wardens following their Calling had always frightened her. She'd never wanted to die in the dark.

"And you're still going to get the chance, if I have anything to say about it."

Moira gasped, her back bowing as the poison made her muscles spasm. Clawing at Nathaniel's shoulder, she put a hand on his cheek. "Go to Varel," she told him. "There are letters that you need to read once you get back. He'll know the ones I'm talking about. One of them is for you, the other is for Alistair."

"We can read them later." He tried to run faster, but the blood on his hands made the hold he had on her slippery.

"Someone is going to have to tell Fergus," she said. "And arrangements will have to be made." Her heart clenched as she thought about her brother. She was going to miss him so much. "People are going to look to you for advice now." Nathaniel's breath puffed against her face as he ran, and she took a measure of comfort in the fact that she was going to die in his arms. "I just wish that we could have had more time together; I would have…"

"No," he interrupted, glaring down at her. "You are _not_ going to give any deathbed confessions." He hiked her up higher in his arms. "You can tell me later, when you're well." The road was beginning to become well-maintained, telling him that they were close to the Keep. "We're almost home. Just hold on for a while longer." He ran through the front entrance and into the courtyard, bellowing at the top of his lungs for Anders. Exhausted from his run, he fell to his knees, cradling Moira close to his chest. Her skin had gone waxy pale and there was a hint of blue around her lips. "No. Stay with me, Moira."

Moira found it extremely difficult to open her eyes. She could hear Nathaniel speaking to her, but it was almost as if she were listening to him with her head submerged under water. Somewhere behind her, she heard Anders curse. Letting her eyes look up, she caught a glimpse of the highest portion of the tower. "When did we get to Highever?" she asked, her voice sounding far away.

Nathaniel looked up to Anders, who was shaking his head. "Do _something,_" he hissed, holding Moira tighter against him. Her skin was clammy and he winced when she cried out as he pressed his hand against her wound.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Anders replied, his expression grim. He could already tell at a glance that a simple healing or regeneration spell wasn't going to cut it. Running through his mental catalog of spells, he began to cast.

"Moira," Nathaniel said, tilting her face up with his hands, his fingers leaving streaks of bright red across her cheeks. "Listen to me. I need you to look at me." He panicked when he saw that her eyes were already starting to dim. "Don't leave me, _please_." he whispered, his lips at her temple.

"Nan's baking cookies," she said. Her voice was so soft that Nathaniel had to strain to hear it. "Can you smell them?" Ginger and spices perfumed the air. If she was lucky, she might be able to get one fresh out of the oven.

"No." Nathaniel looked at her face, watching as the light left her eyes and her breath went past her lips with a sigh, her body going limp in his arms. "_No!_"

Moira felt her body growing lighter and lighter. She tried to touch Nathaniel's arm, but her hand went right through him. She stood up, feeling strangely disconnected as she looked down at her own body lying there on the cobblestones, a puddle of blood underneath her. Amid the slowly growing crowd of people, Nathaniel had his face buried against the side of her neck, his arms wrapped around her body as he slowly rocked back and forth. Her shoulder muffled the low, anguished sounding moan that was wrenched from his chest and she wished that she could do something to reassure him that she was fine now. She knelt and was in the middle of one last failed attempt at a hug when a noise behind her caught her attention.

"Auntie!" Moira's head turned and tears blurred her vision. Somehow, Castle Highever had appeared directly behind her, the white battlements shining in the sunlight and the Cousland flag flapping proudly in the breeze. Oren was standing at the front gates, a wooden practice sword and shield in his hands. Behind him were three other familiar figures. Letting out a sob, Moira stood and ran to them, her arms outstretched.

"Ah, Pup," her father said, smoothing his hand over her hair as he embraced her. "It's so good to have you home."

* * *

"Not so fast, Commander," Anders said, blue light spilling from his hands. "We're not letting you go that easily." Nathaniel could feel the spell sink into Moira's skin and he looked down at her hopefully. Her back arched off the ground as magic forced air into her lungs and his hand went to her throat, trying to search for a pulse.

"She's alive," he breathed, feeling the faintest beat under his fingers.

"Try not to move her just yet," Anders told him, leaning heavily on his staff. "I don't think I have enough mana left in me to do another resurrection spell any time soon." Luckily Serena had heard the commotion was currently getting onlookers out of her way as she knelt beside Nathaniel, her hands digging into her bag of potions and poultices in a quick, efficient manner that Anders was rapidly growing fond of.

"Thank you," Nathaniel said, his hands shaking as he smoothed Moira's hair out of her face. She was still pale, but at least there was a hint of color about her cheeks now. "I am in your debt."

"She's my friend too," the mage explained, wincing when Serena undid the bloody rags, exposing the deep puncture wound at Moira's side. Both healers shared a look before Anders gathered the last bit of his energy to cast a low level healing spell to repair the worst of it, letting Serena follow up with a poultice and fresh bandages. "It wouldn't do if she just up and died, leaving us to our own devices, now would it?"

"No, it wouldn't." Nathaniel rubbed a streak of blood away from the corner of her lip with his thumb. "We'd be lost without her."

* * *

The sun was warm on Moira's face as she dangled her bare feet off the training platform. "You've had quite the adventure," Rory told her, swiping one of the cookies from the pile she had cajoled Nan into letting her have. After her reunion with her family, he had shown up and the two of them had made their way down to the sparring ring where they had spent the majority of their time together in life. "I'm almost sorry I didn't get to witness it firsthand."

It was strange seeing her friend out of his armor, but the simple white cotton tunic and dark brown breeches suited him, his own feet pale against the dark wood of the platform. "I wish that you'd been there too," she said, chewing thoughtfully. "I've missed you."

Ser Gilmore leaned against her. "I've missed you too, my lady."

"Do you remember how you died?" she asked suddenly. Her mind went back to the first time she and Fergus had gone back to Highever, shortly after Alistair's coronation. Part of her had expected Rendon to have left everyone where they lay, to leave heads on pikes as a grisly reminder as to whom the castle now belonged to. She was grateful that the worst they had found was a mass grave, none of the bodies desecrated in any way. At least he had some sense of decency with that.

He shook his head. "I don't quite recall," he told her, his hand involuntarily going to his chest. "I think I was run through? It happened so quickly that I don't even remember feeling the blow."

Moira leaned heavier on him. "I'm glad that you weren't in any pain in the end. Thank you, for your sacrifice. If it weren't for you and the others defending the entrance, then I wouldn't have been able to escape."

He stood up, holding his hands out to assist her back on her feet. "You're quite welcome. Now," his lips turned upwards in an anticipatory grin. "If you're quite finished talking about the macabre, would you do me the honor of sparring with me? I haven't had a decent opponent in years." He winked at her. "And I promise not to beat you _too_ terribly this first round, for old times' sake."

Moira laughed, feeling as if the weight she'd carried on her shoulders for the better part of two years was finally starting to lift.

* * *

"I don't understand why she hasn't woken," Anders said, using his thumb and forefinger to lift Moira's eyelid. Just like the last time he had checked, her pupil constricted in the bright white light coming from the wisp that floated about Anders' head, but she was otherwise unresponsive. "Physically, there's nothing wrong with her."

"Do you think that it might be a side effect to the poison?" After finding out that she was going to be all right, Nathaniel retraced their steps and retrieved the poisoned knife before it had gotten too dark. Anders had a better than average knowledge of poisons and their antidotes, and even he had been stumped.

"I don't know," he said. "All I do know is that with the amount of spells I've cast, Moira should have already been up and doing cartwheels by now." He was jittery, his fingers tapping on the bedpost. To replenish his magical energy, Anders had downed four potent lyrium potions in one go. He knew that he would pay for it later, but he hadn't cared. He guessed that he had about ten to fifteen more minutes before his body decided to crash from the extra stimuli, leaving him out cold for a while.

"Get some sleep," Nathaniel said. "You've earned it."

"You'll send someone to wake me if anything changes?" He was already starting to weave on his feet, the spell wisp flickering before dissipating.

"You'll be the first one to know, I promise." Nathaniel watched as Anders walked out before going to the fireplace and dragging a nearby chair over to Moira's bedside. Sitting down, he stared at her. She was lying so still in the bed that he had to watch the slight rise and fall of her chest to reassure himself that she was breathing. Reaching out, he held her hand in both of his. "Come back to me," he murmured, pressing his lips against her palm.

* * *

"Was it scary?" Oren asked, sitting up in his bed. It was late, and it was obvious that he was losing the battle against sleep, even though he was trying his best to stay awake. "Did it breathe _fire_?"

Moira nodded, reaching out to ruffle her nephew's hair. "It was indeed scary, and yes, it did breathe fire." She would have gotten burned had Alistair not jumped in front of her with his shield.

"How big was the High Dragon?"

"Gigantic. It was so big that it wouldn't have fit inside our Great Hall."

Oren lay back down and looked up at his aunt. "I want to see one!"

Moira smiled, "They're not all that they're cracked up to be. For one, they stink something awful." She tucked the blankets around his chin. "And for another, they eat people."

"Will you tell me about the darkspawn, Auntie?" Oren asked, rubbing his eye with a fist and yawning.

Moira leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Tomorrow," she promised. "Now go to sleep, my sweet boy." She smoothed his hair away from his eyes and got up from where she had been sitting on his bed. Blowing the candle out on the bedside table, she left his room, leaving the door open just a crack.

"He's been asking about you for the longest time," Oriana said when Moira walked down the hallway. "He adores you."

Moira's eyes watered and she quickly swiped at them with the back of her hand. "Oh, Oriana, I'm so sorry that I wasn't able to help you sooner." Guilt still clawed at her even after all this time and now she hoped that she could repent in the afterlife.

Her sister-in-law reached out, brushing a tear from Moira's chin. "Don't. How could you have known? The entire castle had been taken by surprise; there was no way that you could have come to rescue us in time." She led Moira down to her own bedchamber and the two of them sat on the edge of the bed.

"I was so terrified that night," Oriana confessed. "I was afraid, but they were going to hurt my Oren. I couldn't let them touch him."

"And you killed one of Howe's men. I saw the body."

"There were too many of them. I might have gotten one, but the others…" Oriana stared down at her hands. "I wish that I had learned how to fight like you. My son might still be alive today." Moira didn't have the heart to tell Oriana that if he had survived Highever, Oren would have more than likely found his end in Ostagar, seeing that it had been a miracle that she had made it out alive.

"We can't change what happened," she said. "And look at me: all the fighting lessons I've had over the years and I still wound up dying from a stab wound."

"You're right. We can't change what happened. How…how is Fergus?" Oriana hesitantly asked.

"Miserable." Moira ran a finger against the delicate embroidery of the coverlet. "He tries to hide it well behind a wall of good humor, but I can see through it. He misses the both of you every day."

Oriana bowed her head. "I never wanted him to mourn our loss. He was never meant to be alone; he should find happiness with someone new."

Now it was Moira's turn to wipe tears from Oriana's cheeks. "I don't know if that's possible. He loves you."

"I miss him. I miss him so much." Oriana sighed. "Is there someone that you're leaving behind, too?" she asked.

Moira looked down. "Yes, there is." She and Nathaniel had been so busy with trying to rebuild Amaranthine after the darkspawn invasion that they hadn't really had much time to themselves. With everything going on, there were nights that they all but collapsed in bed, falling asleep before their heads hit the pillows. Moira had thrown herself into her role as Arlessa and as her Second-in-Command, Nathaniel had taken control over her garrison; there were many times that they found out their schedules were on opposite ends of the other. The little pockets of time they managed to steal together hadn't felt like nearly enough, even if they did wind up leading to incredibly satisfying encounters in darkened hallways or seldom used rooms.

All the complications hadn't stopped Nathaniel from demonstrating how much he cared for her though. There were the thoughtful, practical gifts: the freshly trimmed ink quills on her desk, the hot mugs of tea he had sent up to her when he knew that she was pulling a late night, the way he took the time to sharpen her daggers when he knew that she was too busy with other things to do so. There were also the single flower blossoms that wound up on her dressing table almost every morning that showed his more romantic nature. "Out of everyone I left behind, I'm going to miss him the most."

Oriana held Moira's hands. "I'm not going anywhere until Fergus arrives. Hopefully that won't be until he's lived a long, happy life. We can wait together until then."

Moira tightened her grip on her sister-in-law's hand. "Yes. I'll wait for him forever, if I have to."

* * *

"Get some sleep."

Nathaniel didn't turn to face Varel. "What if she wakes when I'm gone?" he asked, his fingers stroking the back of her hand. "I can't risk that."

"It's been two days." Varel circled the bed until he reached the opposite side. "We need someone in command."

Nathaniel's lip turned downwards into a frown. "You're the seneschal around here; take over until she recovers."

"I would, but she had appointed someone else to rule the arling in her stead, should she ever be unable to." He held out a letter. "She named you."

Incredulously, Nathaniel broke the seal on the envelope and read the contents. "When did she write this?" he asked, setting the letter aside.

"I believe she wrote it the night she released you from the dungeons." He stood for a while, looking down at both Moira and Nathaniel. "My lord, we need you. _She_ needs you. You're only pushing yourself to exhaustion by sitting here like this." He didn't stay long, leaving Nathaniel alone with Moira once again.

"What were you thinking, naming me Arl in the case you died?" Nathaniel asked, tracing the line of her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Back then, you must have thought I hated you." However temporarily, he _had _hated her. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he'd felt that way.

"I don't want to be Arl," he whispered, standing up. He stretched out on the bed beside her, his arm draping over her waist. "Not if it means you're not there by my side." He had only meant to rest his eyes for a few minutes, but the next time he opened them, sunlight streamed through the bedroom window. He must have slept deeper than he realized, because someone had come into the room and covered them both up with a blanket without him noticing.

* * *

"Moira." Moira sat up in bed and looked around. She could have sworn that she had heard Nathaniel call out to her.

"Nate?" She sleepily pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked around the room for him. His voice was so close to her ear that she felt as if he were in bed with her.

"Honestly, this has gone on long enough." Grabbing her robe, she quickly tied the belt and padded barefoot down the hallway.

"Where are you?" she asked, running down to the inner courtyards. She turned in a circle, looking wildly around in the shadows to try and pinpoint where his voice was. "Nathaniel!"

"We need you here. I need you here. Please, open your eyes."

She spent the rest of the night running through the castle following the sound of his voice, opening doors and walking down darkened halls in a futile game of seek-and-find.

* * *

Four days later and there still wasn't any change. Seeing how reluctant he was to leave Moira's side, Varel had finally talked Nathaniel into moving a desk into their bedroom, if only to answer the correspondences that had begun to pile up. It didn't feel right to write _Arl Nathaniel Howe_ on the bottom of the replying letters. Hell, it didn't feel right to even be addressing those letters in the first place, even though Moira had often asked for his help on such matters before while they helped rebuild the city together.

"I hate to intrude, my lord," Varel said, knocking at the door. "But a rider has been sighted along the road and should be arriving any moment."

"Is it the messenger we sent to Highever?" Nathaniel had sent riders to both Highever and Denerim late that first day to inform Fergus and Alistair of Moira's condition. Both letters had been hard to write, but the one to Fergus had been the most difficult. He'd sent the Keep's fastest riders and so far he'd heard word from Denerim saying that Alistair was on his way, but there hadn't been anything from Highever.

"Actually, no. The rider is Teyrn Cousland himself."

Nathaniel stood up, his left thumb rubbing against the ring he wore on the index finger of the same hand. "He made good time, seeing that the roads have been awful with the recent rains." He took a deep breath. "I ought to meet him at the gates." He gave a brief glance towards the stand next to the armoire and wondered how bad it would look if he showed up downstairs in full armor.

"I don't believe that would be necessary," Varel said, noticing where Nathaniel's eyes had wandered. "He holds his sister in high regard; I don't think he'd do anything untoward."

Nathaniel snorted, but made his way towards the door. He gave Moira's sleeping form one last glance, feeling all the world like he was throwing himself at the lions. "Obviously you've never seen Fergus when he's angry."

Justice and Anders were already in the courtyard when Nathaniel finally made it down. Fergus was already there as well, dismounting and absently handing the reins of his horse to a waiting groom. Nathaniel steeled himself for the confrontation, but it still didn't quite prepare him for the seething fury in his childhood friend's eyes that was directed solely at him.

"Fergus," Nathaniel started, taking a few steps towards Moira's brother. He was about to say something else when Fergus let out an almost inhuman growl as he stalked towards him, his arm cocking back and his fist connecting with Nathaniel's face. The blow snapped Nathaniel's head to the side, but he kept to his feet.

"You bastard!" Fergus yelled, his left fist connecting with Nathaniel's side. "She trusted you!"

"I know," Nathaniel said, dodging another swing. "I take full responsibility for what happened."

"You damned well better! This is all your fault; I knew that getting involved with you would almost get her killed. I _knew_." He lunged at Nathaniel again, but it was easy to avoid blows when the person throwing them was using pure rage instead of finesse to fuel their attack. "She wouldn't listen; she was too busy playing house and spreading her…"

Nathaniel didn't let Fergus finish his hissed sentence. Red clouded his vision and he struck out, his knuckles catching Fergus in the mouth. "Spew venom at me all you wish," he said, punching him again. "But don't you _dare_ say anything about Moira again."

Fergus yelled, barreling at Nathaniel. They fell to the ground in a tangle of grasping arms and punching fists. Nathaniel tasted blood and he was about to strike again when something extremely cold and wet hit the both of them.

"Gentlemen," Anders said calmly, holding an empty bucket that Nathaniel knew belonged to the well at the eastern side of the courtyard. Justice stood beside him, holding another. Cold wisps of frost flew around the mage and it was obvious that he was gathering enough energy to cast another spell. "Don't force me to zap the both of you with lightning to make you play nice."

Fergus stood, wiping blood off his chin. His lip was bleeding freely and Nathaniel could see where it had split. "Where is my sister?"

"I'll be glad to show you, Your Lordship," Anders said, moving between Fergus and Nathaniel. "Although I think that you could use a change of clothes before seeing her." He turned is head, giving Nathaniel a pointed look over his shoulder as he guided Fergus inside the Keep. Nathaniel rubbed his knuckles, the sting of split skin doing nothing to calm his anger.

"You did not deserve to be hit," Justice told him.

Nathaniel shook his head. _This is all your fault._ "Yes I did." If only he'd been quicker, if only he'd insisted that she'd worn at least lightweight armor underneath her clothes, none of this would have happened. His right eye was already swelling shut and his head began to throb. Without saying anything else, he made his way to the infirmary where Serena shook her head and carefully assessed the damage.

"Grown men acting as boys," she muttered under her breath.

"I heard that." He wondered how someone a year or so younger than himself could make him feel as if he was a boy being admonished by Adria.

"It was meant for you to hear." Gently smoothing healing paste over his injury, she gave him a wry grin as she handed him a potion for his headache. "Despite everything, I do have to say that you have a wicked right hook." She turned back to her cabinets. "Good for you for standing up for our Commander."

Nathaniel downed the potion in one gulp. "I heard that too."

She kept her back to him as she went back to whatever she had been doing before he'd interrupted her. "It was meant for you to hear as well."

* * *

The mage had left Fergus in the hallway leading to his sister's bedroom. Fergus took a deep breath before carefully opening the door. He'd expected the room to be empty, but Moira had a visitor sitting in the chair at the side of the bed.

"Oh." Delilah looked the same as she had when he'd seen her years ago at a fair in Denerim. She had a ball of blue yarn in her lap and knitting needles in her hands. "Forgive me; I didn't think that you'd make it here this quickly." She struggled to stand, but Fergus held out a hand.

"Please, stay where you are." His mind unwillingly went to Oriana, her belly large with child. "_He's strong," she had laughed, holding his hand against her stomach so he could feel the baby kicking. "I think he's impatient to greet the world, my love."_ "I…" he cleared his throat. "I didn't know that you were still here at Vigil's Keep."

Delilah slipped her knitting into the basket she'd brought with her. "Normally, I wouldn't. My husband and I have a home in Amaranthine that is currently being rebuilt, but Moira insisted that we stay here until after the baby is born." She reached out and held onto Moira's hand. "It should be any day now."

Fergus sat at the edge of the bed and stared down at his sister. She looked so small, lying there almost motionless. Every now and then, her eyelids would flicker as if she were having a dream and her chest rose and fell so shallowly that he could have easily imagined her not breathing at all. Quinn was lying at her feet, his head resting on her knees. The hound gave a single acknowledging bark as way of welcome before turning his attention back to his mistress. "Has she been like this the whole time?" Fergus asked quietly.

"She has. Anders and Serena can't figure out what's wrong with her. It's as if her mind doesn't accept that her body is fully healed."

"The letter I received said that she had almost died."

Delilah saw how the muscle in Fergus' jaw twitched and didn't think that telling him that his sister _had_ died, no matter how temporarily, would help matters. "She would have, had Nathaniel not gotten her here in time."

He sneered. "He might as well have killed her himself."

She pushed herself out of the chair, one hand curled against her stomach, the other at the small of her back. "I know that you're upset right now, but please, know that my brother would have rather it had been him lying in that bed instead of her. He might not come out and say it in words, but he loves her very much." She touched his arm, not jumping when he flinched. "Don't let my father's evil poison you. Don't let him win."

He didn't say anything, but he slipped into the chair she had just vacated, his hands curling over Moira's. Delilah gave him a sad glance before leaving the two of them alone. She quietly closed the door, pressing her hand against the wood when she heard him let out a shuddering breath from the other side, and prayed that he could find some sort of peace.

* * *

_This has been the longest day of my life,_ Nathaniel thought, pacing the floor of the throne room. He slumped into the chair the room was named for, but found the seat as uncomfortable as his new title. Flinging himself out of the chair, he raked his hands through his hair and marched down familiar hallways, wanting to find something, _anything_ to do in order to dispel the nervous energy that he had pent up within him. Fergus hadn't left his sister's side all day and Nathaniel hadn't wanted to intrude.

"I don't think that he'd appreciate my presence anyway," he muttered, his fingers going to his eye. It wasn't swollen any longer, but the skin around it was still tender. He'd caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and saw that his entire eye from his eyebrow down to his cheekbone was a dark bluish purple bruise. There was also a small nick on his top lip near the corner of his mouth that stung when he tried to smile. It didn't bother him quite as much as the eye, mostly because he didn't have very many reasons _to_ smile.

Not standing it any longer, Nathaniel made his way to his and Moira's bedroom. He'd already moved a few of his essential belongings back to his old chambers, not feeling comfortable sleeping in the same room as Moira while they had guests, but it was still obvious to anyone that he shared a living space with her from the various odds and ends that he had left where they were. Silently opening the door, he slipped in, blending with the shadows.

"You've taken all the fun out of beating you up, Nate," Fergus said, not looking up from the book he had been halfheartedly reading. "You've done a better job of it yourself than I ever could."

"How did you know I was there?"

He set the book aside. "I figured that you'd show up sooner or later." He stood and crossed his arms over his chest. "I owe you an apology."

"It isn't necessary."

Fergus shook his head. "Yes it is." He took a deep breath and slowly let it out through his nose. "I've heard enough from the people that have popped in during the day to know that you did your best to get her back in time. I owe you a great debt that I'll never be able to repay for saving her. She's all I have left; losing her would…" He looked away, his eyes downcast. "I don't know what I would do if that would have happened."

Nathaniel looked down at Moira, holding his breath when her eyes fluttered, but letting it go when she quietly sighed without waking. Sitting down, he resisted the urge to hold onto her hand. "We've all grown accustomed to thinking that she's near invincible," he said quietly. "I doubt that she's told you everything that we've been through."

Fergus let out a sarcastic snort of laughter. "It wouldn't be Moira if she told me everything. If she had it her way, she'd still believe I thought that she slew the archdemon by simply skipping up to it and bopping it on the nose with the flat of her sword." He shook his head, his eyes drawn towards the scars that her gown exposed on her arms and shoulders. He had known about a few of them, but the majority still took him by surprise. "She always did want to keep me from knowing about her injuries, even when she was training back in Highever."

"I owe you an apology as well. My father…"

"Stop. Were you there that night?"

"No, but it still doesn't keep me from wanting to atone for my father's crimes."

Fergus stared at the floor. "Rendon Howe paid for his crimes with his life. He doesn't need you lugging his guilt around as well." He looked at Nathaniel. "I've spent the better part of two years fighting that realization; I'm shocked that Moira hasn't sat up and gone '_it's about time!'_ yet."

Nathaniel smirked. "She does have the flair for the dramatic, doesn't she?"

"Do you love her still?"

He nodded. "I can't remember a time when I _didn't_ love her. If there was any way that I could trade places with her right now, I would do so in a heartbeat." He looked up at Fergus. "I don't know what I would do if I lost her either."

Fergus went to the fireplace and lugged the remaining chair towards the opposite side of the bed. "When was the last time you slept?"

Nathaniel shrugged. "I'm trained to go without sleep for days at a time."

"Which means that you've gone far too long without. You look like shit."

Nathaniel snapped his head up to stare at Fergus. He was about to take offense to the comment, but he caught the familiar gleam in his old friend's eye that he hadn't seen in a long time. He could tell that it would be a long way to recovering what they had, but maybe they could begin to heal the wounds that his father had caused. "Well, getting punched in the face didn't help matters any."

"True. I do have a good right cross. You're not bad yourself."

"How's the lip?"

"Hurts like hell." Fergus stood and went to his side. Nathaniel watched as Fergus seemed to hesitate before putting his hand on Nathaniel's shoulder. "I'm going to get some sleep. Try to do the same, for her sake."

Nathaniel listened as the door closed behind Moira's brother. Quinn, who had been sleeping by the fire the entire time, woke and walked up to Nathaniel. "Well, that went better than expected," Nathaniel mused, scratching behind Quinn's ears. The Mabari made a whuffing noise of agreement before resting his large head on top of Nathaniel's knee. "You miss her too, don't you, Boy?"

Quinn's whine was all the answer that was needed.

* * *

"What has you so distracted, darling?" Eleanor asked. "You're about to stitch your dress to the back of your project."

Moira looked up from her embroidery loom, shaking her head when she realized that she had threaded the needle through her overdress. "I'm sorry, Mother. My mind must be elsewhere."

"Or on someone else," her mother said with a knowing smile, noting how the roses Moira had been embroidering on the edge of the tablecloth had gradually changed to stylized bears resembling the ones on Amaranthine's crest. "You're thinking of young Nathaniel, are you not?" She stood up and went to sit at the window seat beside her daughter. "Though I guess I can't call him young any longer. He'll be thirty soon, won't he?"

Moira untangled her needle from her skirts. "In another year." It was one of the many milestones that she was going to miss now.

"If I recall correctly, he is quite handsome."

She sighed. "Yes, he is." She let herself daydream about him for a moment; how his normally serious expression would vanish when he smiled at her, the way he had of touching her as if she were the only woman he'd ever wanted to hold, how he only had to look at her from across a room in order to make her pulse jump. Her eyes closed and she could feel a blush creep over her neck as she thought about the way that he would groan her name just as he reached his climax and how safe she felt to fall asleep wrapped in his arms each evening. "I hear him every night," Moira confessed. She had been kept awake the other evening listening to Nathaniel read aloud all the old letters he had written her while he had been away. She had saved each one in a book that she kept in her nightstand drawer, the last one horribly stained and creased during the many times she had read it over and over during the Blight. He must have found it while packing away her things. "Why am I hearing him? He speaks to me as if I'm still there. He keeps on asking me to wake up."

Eleanor looked away, her hand reaching out to stroke her daughter's hair. "Why do you think he does that?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know. The way he talks makes me think he believes I'm not dead."

"And what of you? Do _you_ think that you're dead?"

Moira looked at her mother. "I wouldn't be here otherwise." She took a deep breath, her heart speeding up. "Would I?"

Her mother gave her a sympathetic look. Leaning in, she enveloped Moira in a hug. "You've told me several times now how much you missed us all. I think that you were so badly injured that your spirit left your body to join us here, wherever we are." She squeezed Moira's shoulders. "I love having you here, but I feel as if now is not your time."

Moira swallowed a lump in her throat. "What should I do?"

Eleanor gave her cheek an affectionate pat. "I think it's time you listened to your Nathaniel." Kissing the crown of her hair, Eleanor gently pushed her daughter to her feet. "Now, go find your father."

* * *

Anders draped his leg over the arm of the chair. "It is official," he said, stretching his arms above his head. "This place has completely gone to pieces without you. Oh, everyone puts up a great show of acting like nothing's different, but you know us Fereldens. Stoic to the bitter end, am I right?

"The king even showed up this morning. _The king._" He nudged Moira's leg with his foot."You could have had the decency to at least curtsey in his presence, you know. Nice guy, even if he almost became a Templar. Just between you and me, the _almost_ part is why I like him. Shows that the person running the kingdom has a good head on his shoulders if he realized that he should get out of the Chantry before it was too late." He took a bite out of the apple he had brought along before reaching out to stroke Ser Pounce-a-Lot's back with his other hand. The kitten was curled up right next to Quinn, who didn't seem to mind. The dog had given Pounce a look as if he were sizing the little ball of fluff up before licking the side of Pounce's face, causing the fur there to wetly stand up on end.

"Must be hard to be you," Anders continued. "I mean, your best friend is the king, your brother is a teyrn, and you have an arl head over heels in love with you. I know that you're aware of that last bit, but Andraste's lacy knickers, the way the two of you dance around the subject is enough to drive me to drink and you've _seen_ me drink enough to know that it isn't a pretty sight. He's been particularly broody this week, and I can safely say that it's your fault entirely. The only positive thing that's come out of this is that no one here at the Keep has any doubts as to his feelings towards you. Teyrn Fergus hasn't said anything, but I can tell that he's at least impressed by how devoted Nathaniel is now that the two of them aren't punching the other in the face."

He took a breath and set the apple core down on the nightstand. Flexing his fingers, he cast yet another regeneration spell. "This probably isn't helping at all, but at least it makes me feel like I'm doing _something_." Sitting up, he rested his chin on his fists, his elbows on the mattress. He stared at Moira's profile, which remained unchanged except for the occasional fluttering of her eyes behind her lids. "You're just going to continue to be stubborn, aren't you? Well, fine. But if Nathaniel puts me on weapons duty one more time merely because he's feeling surly, I'm going to be quite upset with you."

* * *

Moira quietly pushed open the door to her father's study, knocking as she did so. "There's my girl," her father said. "Come in, sit beside me."

"I shouldn't be here," Moira said, sitting in the chair next to the fireplace. "I need to get back to Vigil's Keep."

Bryce's smile fell. "Ah. I was wondering when you were going to realize that you were needed elsewhere."

"You knew?"

He nodded. "I did, but it wasn't my place to tell you. You had to realize it for yourself. Would you have believed me if I had said so the moment you came running into my arms?"

She twisted her hands in her lap. "I was just so sure. The poison…"

"It had already bled out of your system." He reached over and took her hands in his. "Didn't you see all the blood? The both of you were soaked with it."

"But…" She frowned. "If I didn't die from poisoning, then what brought me here?"

"What you didn't see was that your mage friend cast a resurrection spell on you at just the right moment. Technically, you _did_ die, more than likely from the blood loss, but only for a brief second. Unfortunately, your mind had already been made up that you were dead, which is why you've been here for so long."

"I know I need to go back," She squeezed her father's hand and stood. "But I don't want to leave you. I've just found all of you again."

Bryce stood up, gently tugging her to him until he could wrap his arms around her. "My darling girl," he began, his chin resting on top of her head. "When your time finally arrives, we'll still be here." he tapped the tip of her nose with his finger, much like he had done when she had been a child. "It might be a very long time from now, but know that when the time comes, we'll stand and welcome Nathaniel as well."

Her eyes widened. "You know about him?" She touched the three wedding bands she had threaded onto the chain around her neck, her fingers holding onto her mother's heirloom ring. "I only recently found out that you had known about us back then, but how did you know about us now?"

Bryce laughed. "I have my ways." He lifted the pendant of the necklace she wore, the slivered backing gleaming in the sunlight. "I might not be there all the time, but I do get brief glimpses of the world around you. The two of you are doing a fine job in Amaranthine, just as I thought you would. I am very proud of the woman you've become, Moira."

She sniffled, burying her head against the side of his neck. "I love you so much, Papa."

His arms tightened around her. "And I love you." He leaned back so he could look her in the eye. "It's time for you to go now." His voice wasn't steady either and he rubbed his knuckle over the corner of his eye. "Give your brother our love, won't you?"

She closed her eyes. "I will, I promise. How do I get back?"

Bryce kissed her forehead. "Wake up, Moira."

* * *

The first thing that Moira noticed when she opened her eyes again was the ceiling in her bedroom. The second thing was that there were several heavy weights in bed with her. A familiar bark had her looking down to her knees.

"Hey, Quinn," she rasped, wondering why her throat was suddenly so dry. She moved her hand when Quinn licked at her fingers, the little nub of his tail wagging.

"Well, look who decided to rejoin the living," the second weight said, shifting on the side of the mattress. "All of us Wardens were putting up a pool as to when you'd come to."

"Alistair?" She tried to push herself up into a sitting position, but her arms didn't want to cooperate with her. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled down at her. "Funny thing, that. See, I got a message saying that my best friend was gravely injured. You didn't think I would stay away, did you?" He put his hands under her arms and pulled her up, stacking pillows behind her back. "All in all, I'm very glad to see that you're on the mend."

"I'm happy to be around as well," she said, taking the cup of water he offered her in both hands. "Maker, I feel as weak as a kitten."

"You should; you've been unconscious for over a week now."

"_How_ long?" Sighing, she ran her fingers through her hair, grimacing at the oily texture.

"I know; I'm impressed as well. You only stayed out a few hours after the whole archdemon business." He smirked. "You must be getting old."

She gave him a mock sneer and reached out to pinch his side. "If I'm getting old, then palace life is certainly getting to you. You've been eating far too much cheese and not visiting the practice ring nearly enough, Alistair."

He rubbed his side. "You may mock my age, but never my love for fine cheese," he said, wagging his finger at her. Leaning against the headboard, he sighed. "I've missed you, Moira. I've missed _this_."

"I've missed you too." She felt that he was about to say something else, but he stopped when her bedroom door opened.

"Wouldn't you know it, she woke up when we weren't all crowded around her bedside looking concerned and everything," Anders drawled, his head peeking behind Fergus' shoulder. Both of them looked relieved to see her sitting up in bed.

Fergus beamed. "You made me lose a bet with the mage," he said lightly, crossing the room and rounding the bed. "I wagered you'd wake up two days from now." He swallowed hard and hugged her. "Don't ever do that again, little sister."

"I'll try not to," she promised, trying not to wince at the strength of his embrace. "I have so much to tell you."

"And with that, we should probably leave the two of you in peace," Alistair said, sliding off the mattress and giving Anders a pointed look.

"What? Oh. You're doing that stare thing at me where I'm supposed to quietly leave, right?" Smirking, Anders reached out and squeezed Moira's hand. "It's good to have you back, Commander."

She held on tightly. "Thank you," she told him, her other hand going over his. "Thank you for everything."

He shrugged. "Well, we couldn't let you go so soon," he said, sliding his hand out of her grasp. "Things were just starting to get exciting around here. It wouldn't do if you missed out on them."

"So," Fergus said, making himself comfortable next to her once they were alone. "Where were you this past week?"

She took a deep breath before answering. "In Highever, with Mother and Father."

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. "That…wasn't what I had expected you to say."

"Well, it wasn't where I had expected to be either. At first, I was wondering where all the light and harps and such that the Chantry is always talking about had gone off to, but then I realized that where I had ended up was better by far."

"Did you see anyone else?" His voice was quiet, but Moira could hear the thread of hope underneath his words.

She held onto his hand. "Oriana wanted me to tell you hello. And Oren would like you to know that he's getting better with his sword of Truthiness."

Fergus' breath came out in a shuddering sob. Tightening his grip on her hand, he looked her in the eye. "Were they well?"

"Very. And they were happy."

"Did they say anything? Did they leave any messages?"

"Father wanted me to tell you how proud he is of the way you're taking care of things. Mother said to make certain I fuss over you from time to time, lest you forget what nagging sounds like."

Fergus laughed and wiped at his eyes with his free hand. "That certainly sounds like her."

"Oriana also wanted me to tell you that she wants you to be happy." Moira leaned against her brother's shoulder. "You haven't been happy for more than two years, brother."

He closed his eyes. "I miss them so much."

"She never wanted you to be alone. She loves you very much, but she wants you to move on, to find someone else."

"But…"

"I know. I don't think she meant for you to remarry this very second, but she doesn't want you to live your life forever in mourning either. You were a good husband, Fergus. And you were a wonderful father. You should have that in your life again."

He nodded. "I can't promise anything, but I understand what she was saying. I'll…" he took a breath. "I'll try."

They sat together in silence for a while before Moira piped up. "Where's Nathaniel?" she asked. That was when she finally got a good look at her brother's face and noticed the still-healing split on his bottom lip. "Oh, Maker, you went and started a fight with him, didn't you?"

"Why is it that I'm always blamed for starting things?" Fergus asked, squirming uncomfortably.

Her eyebrow rose. "Because you're usually the one that does. And I know you; you probably blamed him for what happened to me." Even though her words were harsh, the way she smoothed her thumb against his cut wasn't. "Did you at least leave him in one piece?"

"I think we wound up doing equal damage to the other." He nudged her with his elbow. "He's sleeping for once. He's barely left your side the entire time I've been here."

She sighed. "I feel bad about putting everyone through all of this."

He leaned over to kiss her forehead. "Don't. We wouldn't be here if we didn't care for you." Moving off the coverlet, Fergus whistled for Quinn. "I'll call your maid in. I'm sure that you'll want to get all prettied up before seeing him again, right?" His familiar grin was back in place, and for once, Moira felt as if it hadn't been forced.

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

Fergus winked. "And we'd appreciate it as well. You can tell you've gone a week without brushing your teeth."

If Moira had enough strength, she would have thrown one of her pillows at him.

* * *

Hot water had never felt so good. Jillian had clucked over her like a mother hen and before Moira knew it, she was out of the tub and into a dress made out of light purple silk. She'd been growing her hair out since their last fight, and it felt heavenly to have someone brush it out until it fell around her shoulders in dark waves. After bringing in a tray with lunch and tea, Jillian left, leaving Moira sitting next to her window. Now that she had been awake for some time, she could feel her strength quickly returning to her. It was frustrating, but at least she wasn't walking on trembling legs any longer. She looked down at the courtyard where several refugee children were running about the flower garden. Standing up, she decided to hunt down Nathaniel herself. Fergus hadn't told her where he had been sleeping, but she figured that his old bedroom was a good place to start looking.

Plans were changed, however, when she saw Nathaniel standing at her door, his hand on the frame. There were dark circles underneath his eyes – and she noticed the yellowing bruise over his right eye right away – and what she assumed to be a week's growth of beard on his cheeks. He was pale and even from across the room, Moira could see that he had noticeably lost weight in a short amount of time.

Even so, she thought he was the most wonderful person she had ever set eyes on.

"Hello," she said, taking a step towards him. He moved faster than she would have thought possible; within seconds he had crossed the distance between them and had her face cradled between his palms. He was kissing her as if he needed to in order to breathe, as if she would disappear from his arms the moment he stopped.

"You died," he said hoarsely, planting kisses over her eyelids, her cheeks. "You _died_."

"Shh," she soothed, brushing her lips gently over his. "I'm here." She smoothed his hair away from his face, his stubble rasping across her fingertips.

Nathaniel slid his hands down until they rested against the small of her back. "You are _never_ allowed to do that again," he told her. "I'm serious about this."

"I don't think I'll be going anywhere anytime soon," she told him, her head on his shoulder. "I heard you," she murmured.

He looked down at her. "You did?"

She nodded, her fingers toying with the laces of his tunic. "You have a wonderful reading voice."

His eyes went to her nightstand where he had left her book of letters. "I can't believe you kept them."

"Of course I did. They were from you." Moira looked up at him and pressed a kiss against his jaw. "Hmmm, the scruffy look is different."

Nathaniel rubbed his chin. "I didn't know that you were awake, or else I would have shaved." He hadn't really cared for himself while she had been out, only leaving her side to quickly bathe and eat something.

She caught his hand in hers. "Thank you, Nathaniel," she said. "For getting me here so Anders could save me, for staying next to me, for everything."

He kissed her, hoping that he could put into actions all the emotions he didn't trust himself to express correctly in words: all his worry, the grief he had felt when she had died in front of him, the relief when she was brought back, anxiety when she wouldn't wake up, the loneliness he had felt during those days, and finally the joy of having her back in his arms, alert and responsive. "You're welcome," he breathed, nudging her nose with his.

She kissed him again, sighing against his mouth. "Nate?" she asked, tilting her head so he could trail his lips down her neck.

"Hmm?" It was getting difficult to think straight, especially when Moira worked her hands underneath his shirt, her fingers touching bare skin.

Her lips curled upwards into a mischievous smirk. "Lock the door."

He arched an eyebrow at her, but walked backwards towards the doorway, not willing to let her go long enough to make sure the bolt slid home. "As my lady wishes."


	30. the story

Title: The Story  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: #2; rainbows and butterflies  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: PG for vaguely described adult-type touching  
Summary: "These stories don't mean anything when you've got no one to tell them to"  
Note: And this makes thirty. Claim complete. There will be an epilogue to follow.

* * *

Moira had purposely saved Alistair's letter as the last one to open in her pile of correspondences. Her friend's banter and humorous commentary on Denerim politics was just the thing to end a day with. Deciding to get out of her office for a little while and make the most out of the waning sunlight, Moira took his missive outside to the inner gardens, settling down on the stone bench before breaking the wax seal and reading his words.

_Dear Moira,_ it began. _Congratulations on surviving your first year as Arlessa of Amaranthine. It seems like yesterday that I was marching up to Vigil's Keep in the rain with a cadre of Templars behind me, intent on welcoming our Orlesian brethren but finding you blood-spattered and surrounded by darkspawn bodies instead. You surely knew how to throw a welcome party back then, didn't you?_

Moira shook her head. So much had happened in a year that it seemed surreal at times. _I'm pleased to hear from your last letter that your fair city is recovering well. Trade routes have flourished; I'm especially pleased to hear that several of your farmers are contemplating opening up a dairy farm. Artisanal cheeses from the northern portion of Ferelden will be a big seller, even if I'm their only customer. As requested, I've urged merchants from abroad to use Amaranthine as their harbor in hopes that trade with other nations will flourish just as well as trade within our territories._

_My condolences on the death of Bann Esmerelle earlier this month. It's a shame that she lost herself to despair and took her own life. If only she could have held on longer, she would have been able to see that things would soon look up. On another completely unrelated note, I received a visitor a few weeks ago of mutual acquaintance. He said to tell you "Ciao, cara mia" or something like that. I'm horrible with languages. My luck, I just wrote something vaguely obscene, especially considering the source._

She rolled her eyes. Zevran had taken his time, hiding in plain sight in Amaranthine as an Antivan dockhand in the harbor, listening and waiting until the right moment to strike, ridding Moira of another political ambush. He'd visited briefly with her afterwards, joking that now that their contract was completed that he might take to the seas for a time. He'd made several contacts during his months in town and he said that he was due for a change in scenery before heading back to Antiva. She'd laughed, telling him that he'd make a wonderful Dread Pirate, should he ever think of putting aside his assassin profession.

_But really, do you honestly think that Amaranthine will recover within another two years? I'll admit, your people are a resilient sort, but isn't that estimation just a tad bit optimistic?_

"Huh. I see that Eamon has managed to beat at least an ounce of sensibility into you." She grinned. "Took him long enough."

_But let's get down to the real reason I've written you. I thought you'd rather hear this bit of news straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak, instead of from various gossips. I'm to marry._ Moira's breath went out in a large whoosh of air and she sat the letter aside. "Hah! I _knew_ they wouldn't leave you alone for too long!" she crowed, her grin growing larger. _It's not official, but it soon will be when we hold an engagement feast in five days. Say you'll come, please? I want you to meet Gwen before everyone else does. It would mean so much to me, to us, really. She's terrified that you'll not like her, which I told her was impossible – she's the type of person that no one could dislike; she's kind and has this adorable way she scrunches up her nose when she laughs (she gets my jokes!) and she's beautiful and…_

_Maker, stop me. I'm blathering about like a lovesick fool. I can't help it; I _am_ a lovesick fool. Things haven't been easy for her, especially seeing that she's a Circle mage. I know what people will say, that I'm marrying her for political reasons only, but believe me, if things had been different and I would have just been a non-royal bastard who had been raised by dogs, I'd still want to marry her. I just…you've been one of the closest friends I've ever had. I want you to like her, so very much. Please, tell me that you'll show up. I've already had the maid staff air out your old rooms. Once I told her about whom our fellow Wardens were, Gwen would also like to extend the invitation for Anders to attend the feast. Nathaniel is invited as well, though I just assumed that he would arrive with you, seeing as he is your Second-in-Command, not to mention the object of your kissy-faced adoration (your old rooms are large enough for two, which I also assumed would be the preferred sleeping arrangement.) You said that Oghren had taken off for a few months away from the Keep in favor of visiting his family. It's too bad that he's too far to make it in time. Then again, perhaps introducing Oghren to Gwen before the wedding might not be a good idea. She might have second thoughts about joining herself to a man who, when prompted, (and don't think for a moment that Oghren wouldn't egg me on!) can belch the alphabet backwards and forwards after a few tankards of ale. The careful illusion that I have some shred of class would be shattered and she'd run screaming back to the Tower._

_I can't wait for you to meet her. I can't wait to see you again either. There is a matter that I wish to speak with you about that I think would be better said face to face instead of in letter format. And yes, I'm using that as a tantalizing teaser in order to get you back to the palace as well._

_Until then,_

_Alistair_

Moira carefully folded the letter back and stood up. _Oh, like I wouldn't miss this for the world,_ she thought, smiling and slowly shaking her head. Alistair in love. _This_ she had to see for herself. The sun was going down behind the courtyard walls and servants were lighting lanterns along the hallways to combat the growing darkness. She made her way inside, where she knew Nathaniel would be busy at work in his study. He'd converted an informal receiving room in the wing closest to the garrison's barracks as his office, taking furniture from storage and various other rooms and making the space his own.

"What's so amusing?" Nathaniel asked, looking up from his recruitment list the moment she stepped in.

She made her way around the desk and slipped into his lap, sighing in contentment when his arms went around her. Giving him a quick peck to the lips, she tilted her head. "How does a vacation in Denerim sound?"

He stroked his hand over her knee. "How long of a vacation are you suggesting?"

"Oh, a week, perhaps two." She ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "We've finally gotten to a point where I don't think the whole place will fall apart without us if we decided to run away for a while."

He snorted. "This place could run itself. You forget that Varel, Mistress Woolsey, and Captain Garevel were holding the Keep together for two years before you showed up."

She shook her head. "Actually, I was banking on that. We don't necessarily have to spend the entire two weeks in Denerim. I'd like to spend it traveling, just the two of us." She nipped his earlobe. "Think of it as a one-year anniversary celebration."

"I like the sound of that." Nathaniel ran his hand higher along the outside of her thigh and kissed the side of her neck. "Yet why do I get the feeling that you're not telling me everything?"

"Well, Anders would be coming along for at least part of the trip." She cuddled closer against him and explained Alistair's invitation.

"I don't see how we could ignore a royal summons," he reasoned. "It would be just plain rude, especially seeing how he asked us to show up so nicely."

"You do like him, don't you?" Moira asked, looking up at him. As much as it mattered to Alistair that she liked his choice of bride, it mattered to Moira that the people she cared the most for were on friendly terms with the other. The months following her near-fatal injury had seen a slowly closing rift between Nathaniel and her brother, which she was infinitely grateful for. There were still stilted conversations and awkward silences between the two of them whenever Fergus came to visit, but they were growing fewer in numbers than before.

"He's not a bad sort of fellow, once you get past the wisecracks and in-jokes the two of you seem to share," Nathaniel replied with a faint smile. "So, when are we to leave?"

"The feast isn't for another few days. I'd like to spend as much time with them beforehand, but I think that leaving first thing tomorrow would be a bit abrupt on our end." She draped her arms around his neck and shrugged. "How does the day after tomorrow sound?"

"I can clear my schedule by then. And you know that Anders has been having itchy traveling feet for a while now. I'm certain that his bag is already packed." Nathaniel had caught the mage glancing off towards the distant horizon more often lately and he knew that Anders was on the verge of another walkabout. The last one he went on lasted a month, but he came back as quietly as he had left and resumed his duties as if he'd never even been gone. The only thing that had changed was the large, handprint shaped mark on his face from where Serena had slapped him for leaving without telling her. Nathaniel had his doubts that Anders had gone further than flirting with the Keep's resident healer, but it had been obvious that Serena was starting to harbor feelings for him. She'd been moody the entire month Anders had been gone, and then she'd given him the cold shoulder for several days after his return, even though she'd treated everyone else around her with the same sweet disposition that she'd always done.

"The roads have been doing well," Moira said, sliding off his lap. "It would probably be faster travelling by carriage this time of year." Summer was well upon them and even though it wasn't as hot as it probably could have been, the temperature made for miserable travel.

He gave her a skeptical look. "I don't know. We haven't tested the carriage out for long distances." Honestly, the last time he'd been in thing was when he had been nineteen and his family had made semi-frequent visits to Highever. He could vaguely remember the experience, mostly because he hadn't spent much time inside of it, preferring to ride alongside on horseback. He did remember that it had been packed for a family of five, which meant that his father had often ridden next to the carriage on his own horse, if only to try to alleviate some of the crowding.

Moira took hold of Nathaniel's hands and tugged him out of his chair. "What's so amusing?" she asked him, rising up on tiptoes to reach his lips.

"Nothing much," he replied, smoothing his hands down the back of her dress and giving her behind an opportunistic squeeze that had her curling her fingers in his hair and gasping against his mouth. "But are you sure that the carriage is a good idea? I mean, it'll be just the three of us."

She shrugged. "I don't see why not. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"

* * *

"I'm dying," Moira muttered, burying her face against Nathaniel's shoulder. She groaned when the carriage pitched to the side, causing another wave of nausea to hit her.

"Well, you _are_ a rather unusual shade of green, Commander," Anders commented from the bench across from them, scratching Ser Pounce-a-Lot under the cat's chin. Pounce looked up from his nap on his owner's lap before shutting his eyes and ignoring the rest of his party. "But I highly doubt that you're near death."

"Some people just aren't meant for travel by carriage," Nathaniel explained, gently combing his fingers through her hair, his thumb rubbing in comforting circles around her temple. "It's one of the main reasons I used to ride outside as a boy." Thankfully he'd outgrown his motion sickness, but he knew the all too familiar discomfort that Moira was currently suffering through.

"We often traveled this way as a family; I've never been ill before."

"Well, our family's carriage wasn't as good of quality as the Cousland one."

"If you tell me 'I told you so,' I'm going to puke on your boots," she mumbled, closing her eyes and clutching his tunic. "And that goes double for you, Mister I've Never Ridden In A Carriage Before But I Like it."

Anders scoffed. "I'd never say such a thing," he assured her, widening his eyes in feigned innocence. "But I do have to ask, are we there yet?"

Nathaniel let his head rest against the back of his seat, wondering if it were too late to try to escape to the relative safety of the carriage's rooftop.

* * *

Moira was grateful when they stopped in the palace district. Nathaniel held out a hand to her, helping her exit out of the carriage with some semblance of grace. Had he not been there, she was certain that her legs would have collapsed underneath her.

"Not as green as you used to be," Anders commented, tapping at her shoulder. She felt the effects of a rejuvenation spell hit her and she quirked her eyebrow.

"Couldn't you have done that earlier?"

He shrugged. "It would have worn off and you'd have been even worse than before. We can't have you looking half-dead before the king, now can we?"

She rolled her eyes, but straightened her shoulders and walked towards the castle, taking the time to say hello to the groomsmen who were currently taking care of their horses. She heard her two companions fall into step on either side behind her. They barely made it close to the throne room when Moira heard a familiar voice.

"There you are!" Alistair strode up to them, looking completely at ease in the castle. "We hadn't heard word from you, so we weren't expecting visitors tonight." He stretched out his arms and Moira embraced him, inhaling the subtle hint of metal and honing oil that always seemed to cling to her friend.

"Sorry about that. We just figured that by the time the messenger carrying the letter advising you on our arrival would have gotten here, we would have been right behind them." She stood back and looked over Alistair's shoulder. There was a petite woman coming up to them, looking as if she were unsure if she should intrude.

Anders made up her mind for her. "Gwennie!" he said, his voice pleased. He grinned and gave her a low whistle. "Look at you, all dolled up. And to think, the last time I'd seen you, you'd been in the Tower's greenhouses, elbow deep in potting soil."

She smiled and shook her head. "Charming as ever," she said, laughing as she twined her arm through Alistair's. "The last time I saw you, you'd been planning yet another one of your escape attempts and hiding amongst the fertilizer."

"Ah. I see that at least one of you knows who this is. For everyone else, may I present my betrothed, Gwendolyn Amell." Alistair beamed at Gwen, who looked up at him with equal adoration before she faced their guests.

"Oh, none of that," Moira interrupted, watching as Gwen dipped into a low curtsey. "You're my best friend's object of kissy-faced adoration," she winked at Alistair, whose ears turned a bright shade of red at the way she turned his words back at him, "which makes you my new best friend. We don't curtsey around here anyway. Come, I want to hear _everything_ on how the two of you met." She hooked her arm through Gwen's free one, dragging her away towards the library.

"Oh, it's great to see you again, Alistair." Alistair said to their retreating backs, rolling his eyes. "Haven't seen you in hardly a year; what have you been up to?"

Nathaniel snorted before adjusting his pack on his shoulder. "Get used to it. I'm certain that between the two of them, your betrothed will know far more embarrassing stories about you than you thought possible by the end of the evening."

"I wouldn't be so smug," Anders said. "What makes you think that or dear Commander isn't going to share the same sort of tales about you in return?"

"Speaking of smug, let's not forget that they _both _know you well. You're not immune either."

There was a loud peal of laughter down the hallway, followed by Moira's question of _Anders did what?_ Nathaniel crossed his arms and smirked at the mage, noting that Alistair did the same. "Oh, damnation," Anders groaned. "It's far too late in the evening to listen; where's my bedroom?"

* * *

It was late when Nathaniel woke up to the feeling of Moira slipping between the sheets behind him. "Well, what do you think of her?"

Moira curled her body behind his, her hand splaying over his chest. She smiled when his hand covered hers, his thumb rubbing over the back of her hand. "I adore her. I couldn't have thought of anyone more perfect for Alistair if I had tried."

"Ah. Good. Alistair spent a great deal of time worrying." He turned to face her, propping himself up on an elbow. "Is everything all right with him? Did he mention anything else in his letter to you?"

She frowned. "Nothing comes to mind. Why?"

"He kept on asking me how things were going in Amaranthine. He seemed distracted, but he really wanted to know what my duties were there."

"That's not like him. I'll talk to him tomorrow before the feast." She shifted, tangling her legs with his. "I do hope you still remember how to dance."

Nathaniel groaned. "Please tell me that there won't be dancing involved." He'd hated the precise waltzes even as a boy, feeling as if he'd acquired two left feet right in the middle of a complicated turn. He recalled sharing one dance with Moira when he had been seventeen. He'd been distracted by how pretty she had been, never knowing that the rosy blush that had streaked her cheeks had been because she had been infatuated with him for years and finally in his arms for the first time. He'd been struggling with his own infatuation with her for several months by then, and he could clearly remember being embarrassed beyond words when he'd stepped on her foot. She'd winced but never mentioned it and they wound up spending the rest of the song awkwardly swaying back and forth on the dance floor.

"It's a feast, Nathaniel; of course there will be dancing." She turned more until she was partially sprawled atop him. "And if it's like any of the others, my dance card is going to get full rather quickly with men that I'd rather not spend an entire song making idle conversation with. I think Teagan has been invited; at least he'll be a welcome break from the monotony."

Nathaniel recalled Anders' comment on how Moira and Teagan had been paired up for many dances and how Moira herself had commented on what an adept dancer the Arl had been. Frowning, he ran his hands over her sides, his fingers gathering the material of her nightdress up and over her thighs. "And you wish to risk having your feet stepped on yet again?" he asked, nudging her nose with his.

She smirked. "Only if it's you doing the stepping." She straddled him properly, causing both of them to moan. "We have an entire morning to practice, if you're really worried." The last was said on a sigh, her back arching sweetly when Nathaniel pressed up and into her. He swiftly sat up, guiding her legs around his hips with his free hand, his other hand pulling her nightgown the rest of the way over her head.

"Wouldn't you rather be dancing with Teagan?" he asked, gritting his teeth when she moved in a manner she _knew_ drove him crazy. He snapped his hips up sharply in response, loving the way her mouth opened on a silent moan and how she involuntarily tightened around him.

She looked at him confusedly, her eyes glazed over in pleasure. "Who?" she asked, her fingers in his hair. She dragged him down for a long, lingering kiss and he smiled against her mouth. Tipping her backwards, he covered her with his body and proceeded to drive every thought out from both of their minds.

* * *

Moira sat at her old dressing table and frowned at her reflection. A maid had come in earlier and had helped her gather her hair into an elaborate hairstyle that was already tugging at her scalp uncomfortably. It was a far cry from the simple style she had brushed her hair into the evening she had been introduced to the nobility of Amaranthine, even if the dress she wore was the same.

"You look lovely," Nathaniel said, standing behind her. He was dressed all in black, from his doublet with the intricate embroidery along the hem and sleeves all the way down to his leather boots. They made for a dramatic pair: the understated simplicity of his formal wear brought out the gold and greens of her gown. "Although I believe you're missing something." He dug into his bag until he came up with a wooden box. Opening the lid, he lifted out a golden necklace that Moira had only seen once before.

"You brought your family's heirloom jewelry with us?" Moira asked, watching in the mirror as he fastened the piece around her neck.

He was again struck with the memory of his parents doing much the same thing and how happy they had looked. Shaking his head to bring himself back to the present, he kissed the edge of her ear. "I thought you might like wearing it tonight." He'd always admired the gown she had on, especially how it perfectly matched the Howe family colors. "Is something on your mind? You've been awful quiet today."

She bit her bottom lip, her hand going up to trace the teardrop-shaped emerald pendant. "Alistair asked me to stay here," she blurted out, turning in her stool to face him. "He wants me to come back to Denerim for good."

Nathaniel took a step backwards. "What?" He hadn't been expecting her to say anything even remotely resembling what she just said and the news hit him like a physical blow.

She twisted her hands in her lap. "He told me just a while ago." She had meant to speak to her friend first thing in the morning, but she'd forgotten all the intricate details that made up his daily life. By the time that all his meetings were over, it was nearly nightfall.

_I miss you, Moira,_ he had told her. _This past year hasn't been the same without you here. And I don't mean just having you here as my Second, but having _you _here, as my friend. I miss what we once had._

"But…" Nathaniel crossed his arms over his chest. "What of the Wardens? You can't command us from a day and a half's ride away. What of Amaranthine?" His mind raced, his thoughts scattering save for a panicked refrain of _she's leaving. She's leaving me._

She looked down. "That's why he suggested that I give the title of Commander over to someone that I trusted to do the job in my stead. Someone that I could entrust the arling to that I knew would care for its people as much as I've come to care for them." She looked back up at him. "The only person I can trust to do the job is you."

He shook his head. "No, I refuse," he said, frowning. He paced the floor, practically glaring a hole in the stone. "Give it to Anders. Hell, give it to Varel. He already has the run of the place; make _him_ Arl."

"I love Amaranthine." She understood what Alistair had been saying earlier that evening. She _did _miss him. She missed working with him, missed having him finish her sentences or handing him a document he'd been looking for without him having to ask her for it. She missed the quiet moments when they could joke around and just be Alistair and Moira again, not His Majesty and the Hero of Ferelden. She even missed Denerim, which had become her home for the better part of two years while they helped the rest of Ferelden recover from the Blight. And yet while she missed all those things, she knew that she would miss everything and everyone she had come to know in Amaranthine even more. "And I know that you feel the same way. I could never take you away from your home."

"Don't you understand? Home is wherever _you_ are. I thought that I had lost you twice already; I'm not about to lose you for a third time when there's something I can do about it." He knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. "Amaranthine or Denerim, I don't care where you go; I'm going with you. I love you."

She bent her head until their foreheads touched. "I told Alistair no. I know that I've only been there for a year, but the people there are _my_ people. I can't abandon them. I can't abandon _you._" She freed one of her hands from his grasp and stroked the side of his face. "I want to stay in Amaranthine. I want to make a life there, with you." She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. "I love you too; I've always loved you. Marry me." He didn't answer right away and a knot of dread gathered in her stomach. "Nathaniel?"

He stood, pulling her to her feet as well. "That was supposed to be my line," he said thickly, holding onto her hands.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and she searched his face. "Well?" she asked, trying for a joking tone, but her voice cracked.

"It feels as if I've waited my entire life to ask you," he told her. "But would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

The butterflies that had bounced about in her insides suddenly broke free. "Oh, Nathaniel," she breathed, her lips trembling even as she broke into a brilliant smile and threw her arms around his shoulders. "I've waited for you to say that since I was a girl." She broke away from him only long enough to pull the necklace she usually wore out from her vanity drawer. "Seeing as I'm going to keep with tradition and use my mother's wedding ring, I'd like for you to have my father's. He liked you very much; I'm certain that he would have approved."

"I'm going to make you the happiest woman ever," he vowed, crushing her to him. His fingers ruined the carefully constructed curls at the back of her head, but at that moment, she couldn't bring herself to care. Laughing as he spun her around, she framed his face with her palms and kissed him, slow and deep.

"Can't you see? You already have."


	31. epilogue

Title: Epilogue  
Fandom: Dragon Age Origins: Awakening  
Theme: None  
Characters and Relationship: Nathaniel Howe/Moira Cousland, romantic  
Rating: PG-13 for non-graphic sex and character death  
Summary: Some endings are merely the beginning of something new.

Note: Keep scrolling down after the story for an expanded Author's Note, please.

_Twenty years later…_

"Do you know what Tristan said to me the other day?" Alistair asked, his hands clasped behind his back.

Moira sat down at the window seat and smoothed her skirt over her knees. "Apparently it must have been something important to agitate you so much that you'd leave the palace to let me know." She patted the cushion next to her. "Come, sit down and tell me what my dear son has said to have you so upset."

Alistair shook his head. "He wants to marry Alison."

Moira sat back and put her fingers over her lips to hide her smile. "And this is news?" She laughed at his flabbergasted expression. "Alistair, Alison and Tristan have been in love with the other since before they could talk. Surely this shouldn't come as a surprise."

"But…"He sat down next to her and raked his hands through his hair. "Oh sure, _you_ can look smug. It's perfectly acceptable for your son to grow up and want to create more little Howes to run all over Ferelden. _My_ little girl is supposed to stay five years old forever."

She reached out and put her hand on his knee. "You do realize that it's a miracle that we're even having this conversation, don't you?" Somehow, they'd both beaten the odds and had children. Tristan had been first, and then a year later Alison had arrived, much to the delight of the Denerim court. While Alistair had made great advances in the lives of mages, Alison had spent much of her younger years being watched over for signs of inheriting her mother's magical ability. She hadn't displayed any, which eased the minds of some of the older leaders.

He sighed. "I do. And you know that I already love Tris like a son, right?"

"I do. I haven't seen him since he returned. What did you tell him?"

"What I felt was right." He leaned over and bumped his shoulder against hers. "I gave him my blessing. Congratulations, you're now the mother of the future king."

Moira linked her arm with his. "Well, at least Eamon got his wish," she said. "He always wanted to see our families joined up."

"I wish he were here to see it. Lissie is set on a spring wedding. Eamon always did like the spring."

"She's going to make a beautiful bride." Moira sighed and wiped a sentimental tear away from the corner of her eye. "And they're going to give us gorgeous grandchildren." Aside from inheriting Alistair's hair color and good-humored nature, Alison was willowy, delicate boned, and blue eyed like her mother. Tristan was definitely his father's son, from his dark hair, grey eyes, and hawkish nose. He might have taken after Nathaniel's portion of the family tree, but Moira always thought that he had gotten the set of his jaw and physical bearing from the Cousland side. There were many times that she caught herself looking at her son, especially now that he was older, and thinking that from a distance how much he looked like her own father.

Alistair groaned. "Maker preserve us. We're going to be grandparents."

She laughed. "I think they're going to give us at least a few years to get used to the idea," she said. "Admit it, we're getting old." At forty-six, Moira's hair had already started to have wide streaks of grey in it. As the years went by she'd grown her hair longer, fashioning it into braided buns at the base of her neck much like her own mother had worn hers. She'd kept up her training, but she couldn't help but realize that she was definitely slower than she had been twenty years ago and that it took a lot longer to recover from pulled muscles.

Eight years. That was all she had before she could anticipate the nightmares beginning again. She looked up at Alistair, who seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Don't worry," he said, draping his arm over her shoulder. "We're leaving Ferelden in the best possible hands."

"I know," she told him. "I know."

* * *

_Eight years later…_

"Pretty convenient," Alistair quipped, staring at the open doors leading to the Deep Roads. "At least this beats having to trudge through the snow all the way to Orzammar."

Moira flexed her hands and took a deep breath. "Thank you for waiting," she said.

He shrugged. "Oh, it wasn't too difficult to hang around for six more months. You know, because I'm _so_ ready to die and all." Six months had gone by in a flash. Alistair had all but stepped away from the throne, allowing Tristan a more hands-on opportunity to the lands that would soon be under his rule. Tristan had caught on quickly, mostly because he had spent his entire life immersed in politics, not to mention living in the palace for the past eight years and learning the ropes firsthand.

He would make a good king. Moira just wished that she'd be able to see it. "Any regrets?" she asked, stepping inside the doorway with Alistair. As soon as they passed, the great doors began to close and lock behind them. They both refused to look back.

"None. You?"

She thought about her family, how she had spent the last day cuddling her grandson. He was only three; she wondered if he would remember her when he grew older. She'd also spent it with her brother. Fergus had never remarried, and he had constantly batted away Moira's attempts at matchmaking as the years went by. "_I already have a family, little sister,"_ he had finally told her. "_I promised you that I wouldn't mourn them my entire life, but I shall be with them again once my time comes."_ She had stopped all efforts at finding him a wife after that. Fergus _was_ happy over the years, and he had it in writing that should Tristan and Alison have any other children that they would inherit the teyrnir to keep it within the family upon his death. "No, I don't."

He glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. "I didn't see Nathaniel in the cellar."

"That's because I didn't want him to be there, much like you didn't want Gwen present." She rubbed her wedding band with her thumb. Even after eight years, it still felt odd to wear her mother's second ring, seeing that she had given Alison hers once she and her son had married. "Nathaniel and I said our goodbyes this morning." She'd also made him promise that he wouldn't be part of the expedition that went in and retrieved their bodies. She wanted him to remember how she was when she was alive, not as a lifeless blood-spattered corpse. He'd had that stubborn glint in his eye that he often had when he wanted to argue a point, but he'd finally agreed to her wishes.

She wove slightly on her feet. Not trusting darkspawn to do their job, Moira had mixed herself a slow-working poison that was sure to kill her should she survive and be captured. There was no way that she was going to become some tainted creature. The poison was deadly enough to do what needed to be done without dulling her senses or causing her any ill effects, which was just what Zevran had explained it would do when he had taught her the recipe a month ago. _There is a high concentration of pain-numbing toxins that will make sure you don't feel a thing. It will be like falling asleep,_ he had assured her. He had smiled at her before he had taken his leave. When she had asked him what it was all about, he only replied with "_And so it seems that I have finally completed my contract on your life. Let me tell you, the lifelong friendship that you've offered is far more valuable than the small payment Loghain would have given me. I will never forget you, my Warden. Just make sure to take as many of those bastards out as you can for me, for old times' sake."_

"We did a good job," Alistair said, changing the subject when he sensed that Moira was getting depressed. "I mean, with saving the kingdom and everything."

She gave him a weak smile. "That we did."

"Not too bad for the daughter of a Teyrn and an almost-Templar, huh?"

She laughed, holding her hand over his. "No. Not bad at all."

"I just wanted to tell you that you're my best friend in the whole world," he said, staring down at her. "I'm glad that you're with me, here at the end. You've been the sister that I always wished I had."

She squeezed his hand. "I'm glad that you're here with me too. I love you, Alistair."

"Are you scared?" It was odd, but he didn't feel the least bit afraid now that they were down there and it was actually going to happen.

Moira closed her eyes, thinking about her parents and little Oren waiting for her in Highever. "No, I'm not." They both stopped in their tracks when they felt the familiar pull at their chests. Unsheathing her swords, she eased into a well practiced fighting position. "Ready?"

Alistair grinned and Moira felt as if she'd been transported thirty years in time, back when they were both young and seemingly invincible. "Let's do this." Both of them let loose a battle cry, running into the darkness.

The next thing Moira knew, she was looking up at blue sky. She blinked, wondering how she had gotten out of the Deep Roads. The wooded area she was in looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on just where she was. Sitting up, she brushed pine needles off her knees, puzzled because she could have sworn that she had been wearing dragonskin armor instead of breeches.

The loud bark and heavy weight that bowled her over took her by surprise. Her breath was knocked out of her and she turned her head to avoid a wet tongue licking the side of her face. "Ooof, Quinn," she complained, pushing the dog muzzle out of her way. Then she stopped. Quinn had died of old age several decades ago. "Quinn?" She sat up and threw her arms around the Mabari, who was madly wagging his little stump of a tail.

"Well, look what I've found," a voice boomed out from the trees. Moira looked up and broke into a large smile. Ser Gilmore stood there, a quiver of arrows against his back and a bow in his hands. "I went out hunting for dinner, but I think bringing you back to the castle will be even better." He held out a hand and helped Moira to her feet.

"Did I really do it this time, Rory?" she asked, finally realizing that they were in the woods that surrounded Highever. If she wasn't mistaken, they were only a short distance from the castle. "I'm here to stay?"

He laughed. "Yes, my lady. Now come along. Let's get you home."

* * *

_Two years later…_

"Do you have to do this?"

Nathaniel buckled the strap to his armor. "You know I do." The nightmares had been plaguing him for months now. He'd tried to shrug them off, but they were happening with an alarming frequency, sometimes even when he was still awake. He'd spoken with Anders and Oghren, and they had told him the same thing. "It's time." Tristan would never have to go through the Calling – both he and Moira had been against their child joining the ranks of Grey Wardens.

His son frowned, a line forming between his eyebrows. Nathaniel shook his head - _So this is what I must have looked like at that age._ "I can forbid you to go," Tristan told him. He set his jaw and Nathaniel was hit at how much he looked like his mother when she had her mind set on something. _That Cousland stubborn streak is alive and well, I see._ "I am King, you know."

"And I am still the Commander of the Grey," Nathaniel said. "We Wardens are above the King's command."

Tristan swallowed hard. "Are you certain that it's time? Mother has been gone barely two years and…" He looked away. "I don't want to lose you so soon after."

He put his hands on his son's shoulders. "If there had been any way to avoid this, I know that we both would have stayed here until we were old and grey. But it isn't the case."

"I know. It's just that I wanted to have you both for just a while longer. Alison's expecting."

Nathaniel smiled. "That's wonderful news." Little Duncan was five now and Nathaniel was certain that he would be a good older brother. He and Moira had been at the palace for his birth. Holding his grandson in his hands had been one of those perfect moments in life, and he wished dearly that he could have held on just a little longer to welcome the newest Howe into the world.

"If we have a daughter, we'd like to name her Moira, after Mother." He put his hand over his father's. "And if we have a son, we'd like to name him after you."

He didn't know what to say. "I would be honored," he finally told him, clearing his throat. "And I know that your mother would be as well. I'm very proud of you, my boy. You're a fine man and a fantastic father."

"I had a good role model." Tristan blinked before enfolding his father in a tight hug. "I'm going to miss you so much. The Keep isn't going to be the same without you here."

"Your cousin is taking over as Arl." Delilah's son had proven himself to be a model Warden, and Nathaniel felt at ease to know that he was leaving Ferelden's Wardens in his hands.

"I know. It's going to be so odd to call Thomas 'Commander' whenever we meet."

He laughed. "Probably as odd as it's been to call you 'Your Majesty' for him." He broke away and bent to pick up his quiver of arrows. It felt odd after all this time to use something besides his grandfather's set, but he had already placed that quiver and bow in the Keep's armory right alongside Moira's favorite swords. His usual armor was also on a stand there next to his wife's. The leather and dragon scales had done their job well, protecting Moira until the end. Besides superficial cuts and scrapes, she had come out of the Deep Roads unscathed, letting Nathaniel know that the poison she had taken beforehand had worked. Never before in his life had he felt as grateful to his wife's Antivan friend as he had when he found out that Moira hadn't suffered. _"She had given me so much in her life,"_ Zevran had told him at her memorial service, dressed somberly in black and his eyes red rimmed. Grief had aged him a great deal and Nathaniel was hit with just how dearly the former assassin had cared for Moira. _"The last thing I could give her was a merciful death."_

Nathaniel stopped, thinking of one last thing. "I almost forgot." He pulled out the necklace that he'd worn every day for the past two years and slipped it over his head. The raised Chantry emblem was a little worn from his fingers, but the mirrored backing was as bright as ever. He looked at the back one last time, tracing Moira's cheek as she smiled up at him with his thumb. Moira had given it to him the day that she and Alistair had left with the condition that he wait at least a day to look at the back. The moment that he'd seen her face appear on the back was when he knew it was time to order their fellow Wardens to go in and retrieve their bodies.

He'd made the same arrangements with Tristan and Thomas for himself, requesting that his ashes be scattered over Highever instead of interred in the family crypt. All his life, the Couslands had been more of a family to him than his own; it felt right to join them in death. "As you know, this belonged to your mother," he explained, putting the necklace in his son's hands. "I'd like it if you'd keep it in the family." He twisted his wedding ring off his finger and pressed it into his son's palm. "This should stay in the family as well. It belonged to Moira's father before she gave it to me on our wedding day. He was a great man; I've tried my best to rule and live my life in a similar manner to how he lived his own. Bryce would have been proud of the way that you are living yours."

Tristan's fingers curled over both items. "I will, I promise. Father…"

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say…" Tristan frowned, trying to form his thoughts properly. "I know that you were always trying to rebuild the Howe name after what Grandfather did. You and Mother have made Amaranthine better than what it used to be before the Blight. The Grey Wardens are flourishing, and it's all thanks to you two."

Nathaniel reached out and embraced his son. "The Howe name has long since been redeemed. I don't have anything to worry about there." He pressed a kiss against his hair, much like he used to when Tristan had been a small boy. "I love you, Tristan. Don't ever forget that."

Anders and Oghren met him in the throne room. "Are we ready to head out?" Anders asked, brushing off the sleeves of his robe and adjusting the straps to his pack, the tips of his cat's ears poking out of the bag. Surprisingly, Ser Pounce-a-Lot was still around; twenty-eight or so years was an abnormally long lifespan for a feline, and even though he had a cloudy film covering both eyes and seemed to be deaf in one ear, he still got around the Keep as well as a younger cat and was rarely seen out of Anders' company.

The only thing that Pounce had given up in recent years was terrorizing the Keep's mice. He had spent his retirement lapping up cream that Nathaniel had always suspected Anders of slipping health potions into as a way to ward off any sort of arthritis that might have otherwise plagued his beloved cat.

Oghren let out a belch. "We'd better be. The booze ain't gonna last forever."

"Uncle," Thomas said, standing from the throne.

"You look good there," Nathaniel noted, clasping his nephew's hand. He drew him close and gave him one last embrace. "Give your mother my love," he said in his ear. Delilah had refused to show up, preferring to stay in the small farmland that Teyrn Cousland had granted the Howes over twenty years ago after Nathaniel had saved him from bandits.

"I will." Thomas stood back and saluted. "Maker watch over you, Commander."

Nathaniel nodded. "Maker watch over you all."

"What I can't understand," Anders said as they descended the stairs in the cellar, "is why we're doing this in the dark. Couldn't we have at least waited until tomorrow morning?"

"You want to have another sleepless night before you die?" Oghren asked, hefting his axe. "I say we bust some skulls and get this thing over with."

Nathaniel had his reasons for choosing to go into the Deep Roads at night. He'd snuck back into his family home under the cover of darkness thirty years ago. It only made sense to him that he'd leave for good under the same conditions.

"I always wondered if Velanna had ever found her sister," Nathaniel mused. A week after the final siege all those years ago, Velanna had just…vanished. He might not have gotten along with her well, but he hoped that she had found some sort of peace.

"Pity Sigrun isn't here. We could use her sunny disposition right about now." Anders held out his staff and tried to shake the unease he felt. "Maker, but I wish we didn't have to do this underground. I would have liked to have felt the wind in my face one last time."

"Quit yer bellyachin' and man up," Oghren said. His words might have been harsh, but the tone that he had said it in was oddly sympathetic.

Anders rubbed at his chest. "They're that way," he told them, pointing down where the road took a curve. Looking at both of his companions, he straightened his shoulders and gathered magic around his hands. "What say we tell them hello, preferably with a great big boom?"

"It has been an honor fighting alongside you both," Nathaniel said, readying his bow. Age had made his shoulder creak, years of constant repetitive action finally catching up to him.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's kick some arses before we all start sittin' around cryin' like a bunch of little girls."

* * *

Nathaniel groaned and rolled to his back. He rubbed at his chest, expecting his hand to come up wet and tacky with blood. When it didn't, his brow furrowed and he sat up.

"That's odd," he muttered, wondering why he wasn't in pain. The last thing he could remember was spitting into a Hurlock's face as it impaled him with its greatsword. His only hope was that the dagger that he had managed to plunge into the creature's eye with his remaining strength had killed it as well. Rolling to his feet, he tried to get his bearings. "It looks like you might have gotten your wish, Anders," he mused, looking upwards at the stars twinkling overhead. The moon was full, the light giving him something to go by as he wandered along a deer trail. It didn't take him long enough to realize and accept that he had died, but he was still left wondering as to where he actually was. The scent of pine trees was overwhelming, and fallen needles crunched underneath his boots.

He jumped when a pinecone hit him square in the back. "Andraste's flaming sword," someone complained from behind him. Nathaniel whirled around at the sound of the voice, his eyes wide. "Would you stop for a minute? You're going the wrong way."

Nathaniel's breath caught in his throat. "Moira? Is that you?"

She seemed to melt out of the night, her smile brilliant even in the shadows. "Hello, Nate." He watched, frozen in place, as she came up to him. The moonlight showed that she looked as youthful as she had been when he had first laid eyes on her in the Keep's dungeon thirty years ago, her face losing all the faint lines that he had long since memorized.

"You're…" he reached out and let her hair sift through his fingers. It was just as long as it had been before her death, but instead of being streaked with grey, her hair was a solid mahogany that fell nearly to her waist in dark waves. "I didn't know we could pick what age we'd be for eternity."

She laughed, the sound music to his ears after two years of miserable silence. "I'm not the only one. How does your shoulder feel, my love?"

Now that she mentioned it, Nathaniel noticed that he hadn't felt the ache that had plagued him since he had hit his forties. In fact, he felt just as fit as when he had been in his prime. He rotated his arm, amazed when it didn't creak as it had done for years. His hands went to his face, fingers trying to find the heavy lines at the corners of his eyes and across his forehead.

"They're not there," she reassured him, her hands going up to cup his cheek. "And yes, Mister Vanity, your hair is as dark now as it ever was." She would have said something else, but Nathaniel swooped down and captured her mouth with his.

"I missed you," he said in between kisses. His hands ran down her body, tucking her tight against him. "Wandering about the woods in nothing but a nightshirt and boots?" he teased, drawing the material higher up her legs.

She huffed, her hands already working his belt free. "I would have been more presentable," she said, tilting her neck to give him better access, "had you decided to die in the daytime." She had been sound asleep when she had felt the urge to venture outside; she didn't know what it had been, but something had guided her straight to him.

He moaned low in his throat when she stroked him through his trousers. "Minx," he growled, nipping at her collarbone, which made her breath hitch. He dragged his mouth up to her ear. "I love you."

"We only need to go a little bit the other way," she told him breathlessly, allowing herself to be drawn down to the ground, the clothes they were quickly discarding providing a cushion for them on the forest floor as his hands roved greedily over her. "There's a perfectly good bed…oh, _Nathaniel_, don't stop."

He eased her down until her back hit the grass, his body looming over hers as she arched up to meet him. He cried out against her skin, savoring the feel of her legs clinging to his sides, the sound of her gasps, the sweet ache as Moira raked her fingernails down his back. He tangled his hands in her hair and lost himself in the moment, rocking in a rhythm with her that spoke of years of experience and yet still felt like something completely new.

"I missed you too," she said after, her voice sleepy as her hands slowly trailed down his chest and side, relearning familiar territory. She nuzzled her lips against his jaw, inhaling the scent of leather and man that had been missing for so long.

"I can't believe you waited for me," he murmured. He couldn't stop touching her. Those years that he had been alone had been torture.

"I told you once that I'd wait forever," she said, her lips at his throat. "Two years was nothing."

He held her tighter, his hand tipping her face up. He kissed her, and she gladly stretched up to meet him, smelling of lavender and comfort and _home_. "And now we'll never have to wait again."

-end

Final Author's Note: It's over! I wanted to take the time to thank everyone who stopped to read this either here or on the other various livejournal communities I had posted it to, and to thank those who commented and offered constructive criticism. I would especially like to thank Annikainen for all the lovely words of encouragement, the fantastic piece of fanart, and extremely useful Italian help.

While this wasn't a songfic, I think I explained in one of the earlier portions that each of the chapter's titles came from songs that I had been listening to while writing, or songs that I thought fit each theme. For anyone that might be curious, here are some of the lyrics and artists I picked out for each chapter that stuck with me:

Title: _But tell me you love me, come back and haunt me, oh and I rush to the start -_Coldplay, _The Scientist_

1. _And I don't need the fallout of all the past that's in between us_ -Gin Blossoms

2. _I'm watching somebody's world at an end_ -Chris Isaak

3. _Even if you don't want to speak tonight, that's all right, that's all right with me _-Lifehouse

4. _And the girl in the corner is everyone's mourner - she could kill you with a wink of her eye_ -The Sweet

5. _Reaching out for a hand we don't see_ - Guided by Voices

6. _I could drink a case of you and still be on my feet_ -Joni Mitchell

7. _Here there may be roses to punch you in the nose_ -the Grateful Dead

8. _A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys_-Peter, Paul & Mary

9. _Ev'rybody knows that baby's got new clothes_ -Bob Dylan

10. _Go, forget it. Let it all go, let it all go_ -Mark Knopfler

11. _Robin Hood and Little John walkin' through the forest, laughin' back and forth at what the other'ne has to say _-Roger Miller

12. _I'm not meant for you and you're not meant for me_ -Francis Dunnery

13. _You'll remember me when the west wind moves among the fields of barley _-Sting

14. _So far away, doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore_ -Carole King

15. _And then glued me back together, returned to me what others stole_ -the Perishers

16. No lyrics for this one, it's instrumental! Flutes and drums FTW! -Tartanic

17. _It never felt so good it never felt so right and we were glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife_ - Meat Loaf

18. _What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way_ -Chris Isaak

19. _She's as sweet as tupelo honey, just like honey, baby, from the bee_ -Van Morrison

20. _There goes the world, right off my shoulders. There goes the world, right off my back_ -Lifehouse

21. _I know a father who had a son, he longed to tell him all the reasons for the things he done _-Paul Simon

22. _My red is so confident he flashes trophies of war and ribbons of euphoria_ -Jimi Hendrix

23. _Nothing unusual, nothing's changed, just a little older that's all_ -Damien Rice

24. _And every breath we drew was hallelujah_ -John Cale

25. _If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world_ -Snow Patrol

26. _Girl don't be angry if I seem rude each time we meet someone that you once knew you said used to be so close to you - Joe Cocker_

27. _I need a hero, I'm holding out for a hero till the end of the night. He's gotta be strong and he's gotta be fast and he's gotta be fresh from the fight_ -Jennifer Saunders

28. _If you could only see the way she loves me then maybe you would understand _- Tonic

29. _All this water under the bridge, everything comes sneaking back_ -Hotel Lights

30. _But these stories don't mean anything when you've got no one to tell them to, it's true, I was made for you_ -Brandi Carlile

Epilogue: _The endings are never ever happy. It's the happy moments along the way that in the end make it okay -_Five for Fighting, _Nobody_


End file.
